Violet
by cmar
Summary: PRTF: With Jen's uncertain fate hanging in the balance, can Wes and Eric rebuild their friendship, and solve the mystery of Violet? Sequel to 'Unreal Life'. Some spoilers in reviews. Part 9 'Time' Series. Complete.
1. In the Aftermath

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

This is a sequel to 'Unreal Life'. Don't even think of reading this if you haven't read that first, you'll be seriously lost. Part of my 'Year of Time' series of slightly AU Time Force stories. In my version, the future Rangers are from 200 years in the future. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

In the Aftermath

* * *

"How did this work..." Wes squinted at the machine in front of him, frowned, and tried to remember. Why hadn't he paid more attention? Because he had never expected to have to work the damn thing by himself. He frowned. There was no help available. None of the Bio-Lab scientists even knew what was in this small room in his father's house, a room that was always kept locked. 

It looked like a picture frame, antennae rising from the top. And it was meant to show a picture. A picture from the future. It was a chrono-communicator, the one Time Force had left for Jen to use in an extreme emergency, if she absolutely needed to contact her native time. And now... if anything qualified as an emergency, this did. He needed help. If he could only get it working... 

Another adjustment, another vague memory of what the unfamiliar controls were for. He flipped the switch that should turn it on. To his surprise, the area within the frame lit, a three-dimensional image forming, blurred at first, then sharpening into a very welcome sight. 

"Trip!" he exclaimed. 

A young Asian man with bright green hair stared back at him. It was almost like looking through a window, his old friend and teammate on the other side, as if he were in the next room instead of two hundred years away. 

"Wes!" Trip said, a startled look on his face. "I wasn't expecting... How are you?" He grinned, his face alight with all the eager enthusiasm Wes remembered. 

Wes smiled too, swallowing back the lump that rose in his throat. "It's good to see you, Trip." 

"Yeah, you too." The young man's expression became more serious. "But you know you're not supposed to contact us except for an emergency." 

"I know. But this -- this _is_ an emergency. The worst." 

"Wes... I think I know what you're going to say." 

"You know?" Wes sat back. "Of course you know. It's all history to you." He leaned forward again. "You've got to help us. Tell me where she is. If..." He swallowed again. "If she's alive." 

"Wes, I can't tell you anything. You know that. You can't have knowledge of your future..." 

"Trip, this is Jen we're talking about! Your teammate! A Time Force officer!" _And the woman I love,_ he almost added, but stopped himself. "You have to help me find her!" 

"Wes, I can't." 

The words came out in a rush, in the effort to make him understand... "She was caught in an explosion. Norman Ryder, he mutated himself, you probably know about him, too. He kidnapped us, drugged us, I got out but he still had Jen, he blew up his laboratory in an old silver mine -- we've been searching for a month now, can't find any bodies -- I have to know, don't you understand? Is she alive? Can't you at least tell me that?" 

"Wes, please, don't ask these questions..." 

"Damn it! I thought we were friends! I thought you'd have some loyalty!" 

"I do have loyalty. I'm sorry, Wes. We can't interfere. I shouldn't be talking to you now. We can't have any contact with your time unless history is being tampered with." 

Wes planted his clenched fists on the table in front of Trip's image. "But it _is_ being tampered with! Norman was working on a time machine! With technology from _your_ time! He could have used it to escape, and taken Jen with him. That's what happened, isn't it? At least tell me that!" 

"Wes..." Trip sighed. "Look, all I can tell you is that time travel was not involved." 

Wes stared at him in shock. "You mean -- Norman didn't use a timehole to escape? With Jen?" 

"No, he didn't." Trip glanced around, taking a deep breath, seeming to be struggling with himself. "Whatever he used, it didn't transport them through time." 

"But... he used something? Did they escape?" 

"I'm sorry. I truly am. But I can't tell you. You and Eric have to handle this on your own." 

"Can't you do _something_? Anything? It was your technology that started this whole thing! Norman wouldn't have been able to mutate himself without your treatments! And your serum! He wouldn't have been able to make himself smart enough to invent the weapons he's used..." 

"The timestream has already absorbed that change. Everything that's happened was meant to happen." 

"Including Jen's death? I can't believe you won't help! You don't care!" 

"I'm sorry, but I can't. It's against all the rules." 

"Fuck the rules! I can't believe you can be so heartless!" Wes felt a small stab of guilt at the pain he saw in Trip's face, but it was nothing compared to the agony in his own heart. He reached for the controls, trying to find the 'off' switch through his tears. 

"Wes, wait!" 

He stopped, reluctantly looking at the image of Trip's unhappy face again. 

"Wes -- don't give up. There's hope." 

"What do you mean?" 

"That's all I can say, Wes!" Trip's face twisted. "Shouldn't have said that much. Just -- remember what Jen used to tell us. Never give up." 

"Never give up." Wes sat, eyes cast down, struggling to control himself, at least long enough to do what he knew he had to do. Finally he looked up again. "Thank you, Trip. And -- I'm sorry." 

"It's okay. I understand." 

"You're a good friend..." He stopped, unable to speak as his throat closed with emotion. 

Trip smiled. "I know. Goodbye, Wes. Good luck." 

"Goodbye," Wes whispered. He reached a trembling hand to turn the machine off. Then he sat, still staring at it. 

Hope. What good did it do, when he didn't have a clue as to where Jen might be, or what was happening to her, or even if she was alive? But she must be alive, she must be, or Trip wouldn't have said what he said. Norman must have built some kind of transporter, like Ransik's mutants had used, Trip had told him once they were based on the same technology as the timeholes. No time travel, but they must have escaped. He had to tell Eric, get his help... 

The two of them had to handle it on their own. Wes sat up a little straighter. Whatever it took, they'd do it. He couldn't let Jen down. It was time to stop sitting around the house feeling sorry for himself. He'd spent all his time for the last month either at home, sitting around aimlessly, or at the old silver mine where it had happened, trying to help with the search and probably just getting in the way. 

Eric had had to take over at Bio-Lab, had to take on a double burden, when he had so much already to deal with. Wes knew he was also hurting from Jen's apparent death. And worried about his own girlfriend, who might be in danger if Norman was still alive. And there was -- the other thing... 

They had seen each other at the mine, and occasionally at the house, they had spoken like friends and partners, worked side by side helping in the search. Eric had been sympathetic and understanding, unusually so for him. There was nothing specific Wes could point to in his behavior, just a subtle distance. He knew he could count on Eric to do whatever he could to help find Jen, still would trust him with his life without hesitation. But he knew. Eric no longer considered them to be friends. 

* * *

"Hey. Going to be ready to go home soon?" 

Gaby looked up from her desk and smiled at Steve Miller, standing in her office doorway. "Yeah, anytime. Are my guard dogs ready?" 

He chuckled. "Come on, it's not that bad. You should feel like a celebrity, with your very own bodyguard." 

"Yeah, the bad part of being a celebrity." She sighed. "No sign of Norman Ryder for a month. He's probably dead. But Eric still insists on protecting me from him." 

"He's very careful, when it comes to you." 

She smiled at that. "I'd rather have him guard me himself. Isn't he going home yet?" 

"Still in his office." 

"Jesus. He works so much now. We hardly seem to spend time together, even though he's living in my apartment. I'm usually asleep by the time he gets home..." She blinked, trying not to show her unhappiness. 

"With Wes not coming in to work, it's hard on him. It's not that he doesn't want to be with you." 

"Sometimes I don't know." She stared down at her desk for a moment, hoping her thoughts didn't show. Eric had lived alone for years, had told her he liked it. She knew for herself how nice it could be, not having to answer to anyone, at least at home. He must miss it, the way he worked so hard, seemed to take every opportunity lately to avoid spending time with her. 

And it's more than Wes not being here," Steve added gently. "I think he blames himself for Jen. Doesn't want to rest until he finds out what happened to her." 

Gaby smiled again, with a touch of sadness. "Maybe. Well, whenever your guys are ready." 

"Listen..." He straightened. "Maybe I can get him to leave a little early. Hang out, and I'll talk to him." 

She brightened. "Would you? You're a sweetheart, Steve." 

"That's what I tell everyone. See you later." 

* * *

It was late, he was tired. Eric sighed, trying to concentrate on his paperwork, trying to keep his mind working and his eyes open. He opened another file folder, and stared at the contents unseeingly. _Too much,_ he thought. Too much work, with Wes gone... The thought brought a momentary frown, before he began to drift again. But drifting was no good. Had to keep going. Keep working, keep looking. 

Until they knew for sure about Jen, until they found either her or some proof she was gone, any relaxation seemed like a pointless and guilty waste of time. He owed it to her. Hadn't been able to save her, hadn't been there when she and Wes were attacked. He had let her down... Wes might not be his friend anymore, had never really been his friend, but he deserved to know what had happened to the woman he loved. 

So tired... He closed his eyes tightly, rubbing them. Wasn't getting anything done anyway. A full night in bed, maybe with a chance to spend a little quality awake time with Gaby, would be so nice... 

"Geez, Eric, you're falling asleep." 

He looked up at the voice. Steve Miller walked in, and picked up the case file he had been looking at. 

"The Evans case. I could handle this." 

"Do you have time?" 

"Sure." He gave Eric a considering look. "You look beat. Why don't you go home on time for once?" 

"I've still got paperwork…" 

"It could wait." He paused before adding, "Gaby'll be leaving soon. She'd like you to go with her." 

"Would she?" 

"Sure. According to her, you're never home, except to sleep. She misses you. Besides, if you're with her, she won't need an escort. If they can go home tonight, I can use them in the morning on Evans." 

Eric smiled. "Good argument. You're right, I can't even see straight anymore." He stood up. "I think I'll take your advice. Catch Gaby before she leaves." 

"Good. See you tomorrow." 

"See ya." 

A few minutes later, his office door locked behind him, he was on his way, walking through the familiar hallways of Bio-Lab. _Two years,_ he thought, _a little more, actually._ Over two years of working here, walking these same hallways. Long enough to settle in, to feel at home, to get a feeling of permanency, of belonging. To almost get over the lingering fear that this would be taken away from him, like so many other things had been. Now that fear was back, logical or not, ironically because of Wes, the same person who had been largely responsible for making him feel secure here in the first place. 

* * *

He watched her, as they moved around the apartment, cleaning up after dinner. Gaby caught him looking and smiled. "What?" she asked. 

Eric shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe just that it's been a while since we had a chance to spend some time together." 

"Yeah." Her glance seemed to contain something he couldn't quite read. "You spend so much time working, I've almost forgotten what you look like awake." 

"I'd like to be here more, but with Wes still out..." 

"I know," she said quickly. "You have to do double work." Again her eyes seemed to hide something. "But I'm glad you're here now. We have to talk." 

"Uh-oh," he said, smiling, but his heart lurching slightly. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing. Sit down." She curled up on the couch and patted the space next to her. When he was seated she went on. "It's my bodyguards." 

Since Norman had kidnapped her from the Bio-Lab parking lot, claiming to be in love with her, Eric had kept Gaby protected. When he couldn't be with her himself, a pair of Silver Guardians kept watch on her. He knew immediately what she wanted, he knew she didn't like the situation. 

"Norman may have died in that explosion in the silver mine. There's been no sign of him for a month. I don't think it's necessary to keep me under guard anymore. It's a drain on the Guardians, it's costing Bio-Lab money, and I don't like it." 

"We have no proof Norman's dead," he protested. 

"We may never have proof. And I can't live like this forever. You'll have to discontinue the guard sometime. Why not now?" 

He hesitated. She was right, logically, but some part of him didn't like it, hated the idea, in fact. "Give it another month," he said. 

"Eric, I really hate this. And it doesn't make any sense." 

"I just don't want to take the chance," he said stubbornly. 

"Please?" She watched him. "You're still here every night. That's sort of keeping guard on me, until you move back into your house in a few more weeks." 

"I..." He cut himself off, a pang making him realize what was really bothering him about this. Accepting that Norman was gone meant accepting that Jen was gone too, something he wasn't prepared to do. And that wasn't the only thing. 

His house had been damaged when Norman had set it on fire, but the repairs would be finished in another month or so. Then he would move back in, and Gaby would stay here, in her own apartment. 

At first he hadn't liked the idea of being together so much, when he had started spending every night with her, as a self-appointed bodyguard. But it had worked out, he had come to like it, more than he thought possible. And now, it would soon be over; after his house was livable again and the guard on Gaby was dropped, he would have no more excuse to be with her so much. None unless he told her he wanted it to go on, unless he asked her to live with him permanently. But how, when he could hardly admit it to himself? 

Still, his reluctance to give up hope for Jen and his desire to have a reason to stay with Gaby were hardly a reasonable justification for tying up the Guardians' time, not to mention making Gaby unhappy. He forced a smile. "I suppose you're right. I'll drop the guard. When I move out, everything'll be back to normal." 

"Great!" She grinned, and leaned forward to slide her arms around his neck and kiss him. 

Did she have to be so happy? "I guess I should thank you for letting me live here," he said, a little grumpily. "I know it was a sacrifice." 

"Not really a _sacrifice_..." she murmured. "The least I could do, after your house got trashed because of me." 

"That wasn't your fault." 

"Besides, it's been fun having you around... Although I wish you'd be here more than just to sleep..." 

"I'm here now, aren't I?" 

"You sure are. I think we should take advantage, don't you?" She nuzzled against the side of his neck, kissing him under the ear. 

He turned his head to kiss her, pleasantly surprised by her passion, despite his continued discomfort at their conversation, as her tongue darted in to skim his mouth and her hands began to pluck at the buttons of his shirt, then reached lower. "Hey!" he exclaimed, chuckling. "Moving pretty fast, aren't you?" 

"Just trying to keep you awake." 

"Don't worry, I'm up..." He turned, pulled her against him, and slid his hands under her sweater. 

* * *

"Violet. You know you shouldn't be out here." 

She twisted on her seat on the front porch and peered up. The person who had spoken was standing over her, his face with its brown hair and eyes shadowed but familiar. She smiled. "I'm sorry. But it's dark. No one can see me. And it's such a nice night." 

"You could enjoy it behind the house." 

She turned back to her view, the overgrown fields of the farm where they lived, the highway beyond, occasional cars zipping by. "I wanted to be _here_... see the cars going by...." 

He smiled. "What's so special about cars?" 

"They're going places. Seeing things. I wish I was in one of them." She tilted her head back to look up at him again. "I'm supposed to be learning, after all. Exploring." 

"Only where we tell you to explore." 

Violet frowned at him. "Why am I not supposed to go out front? Why can't I leave the farm?" She waved an arm to include their surroundings. "It's nice here, but... I've heard you talking about the city. A city, full of people..." She smiled, the longing she felt sounding in her voice. "I want to go there. See it. Be with other people." 

His voice was neutral. "The city can be amusing." 

She jumped up, smiling happily. "Then why don't we go? We can all go. Just for an hour or two." 

"I'm afraid we would attract attention." He smiled. "Maybe some day." She smiled wider, watching him. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, sounding amused. 

"_Please_, please let me go... Don't you trust me to behave myself?" 

A shadow crossed his face, an expression she almost identified as guilt. But that was ridiculous. He and his brother had been so good to her, taking care of her, teaching her everything she knew, patiently answering her questions... well, most of them. 

"It's not a question of trust." He reached out a hand. She put her own hand in it, not even noticing its coldness. "Come on, it's late. We should go back in," he said gently. 

"I don't understand. Why can't I go wherever I want?" 

He was silent for a few moments as they started back. "It's because of where you came from," he finally said, his voice low, his face completely expressionless. "How you were -- created..." There was a pause. 

"I still don't understand. What does that have to do with anything?" 

"There would be complications. We're not ready to deal with them yet." He seemed to hesitate again. "But someday, I'll take you wherever you want." 

"Really? You think so?" 

"Of course. As soon as you know a little more. As soon as we-" He hesitated again, that look, almost of guilt, on his face. "-as soon as all of us are ready." 

"Oh, I can't wait! The city... Silver Hills? Is that the name of it?" 

"Yes." His face turned towards her, his eyes watchful. "Does it sound familiar?" 

"Silver Hills... I don't know." She walked quietly into the house at his side. Silver Hills. It seemed to mean something. For a moment a ghost stirred inside her, the same thing she felt now and then, when she saw a name in a book or magazine, saw a picture, and somehow sensed she had seen it before... As if she remembered things, things that had happened before her creation, before her 'birth'. 

Of course that was impossible. She had the body of a grown woman, the knowledge, too, built into her mind, but she was only a month old. She had never seen anything before she had waked up, here. She had no past, nothing to remember. Only a future. 

* * *

TBC... 


	2. A Familiar Face

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

A Familiar Face

* * *

_"Eric? This is Jimmy."_

"Jimmy." Eric was only mildly surprised. Jimmy had been Jen's partner -- _was still_ her partner, Eric corrected himself -- as a detective in the Silver Hills police. He had stayed in touch, gotten involved in the recovery effort in the mine, and in their search for Jen when it had become apparent they weren't going to find her body. 

There was a slight pause before Jimmy went on, his voice urgent and tense. _"Eric, can you come to the stationhouse? Now?"_

"Why? What's up?" 

_"Well... it involves Jen. Sort of."_

"Jen? What is it?" 

Another pause. _"You have to see it to believe it."_

Eric frowned. "I'll bring Wes." 

_"I don't know. Frankly, I'd rather you come alone. I don't know how Wes would react."_

"He's not that bad." He didn't completely believe that himself. Wes had been back on the job for a month now, making an obvious effort to function normally, and succeeding for the most part. But he was different, tense and irritable, sometimes seeming stretched as tight as a violin string. More than once Eric had wondered how easily he might snap. 

_"Come alone. Then you can decide whether to involve Wes."_

"Okay. Be there in twenty minutes." 

* * *

He made it in fifteen, striding quickly into the stationhouse, spurred on by curiosity and his own eagerness to find something, anything, that might lead them to Jen. That would help them find her, maybe even save her. Maybe then the load of guilt he had been carrying would lighten. Guilt that he hadn't been there, hadn't been able to save her at the end. His eyes narrowed, almost seeming to see her again, as he had seen her that last time. 

She had been frightened, terrified really, with Norman dragging her away from them. He had tried to reach her, been kept back by the two robots, Silver and Purple. They had confused him, shooting at him, but not hitting Wes or Steve when they clearly had the chance, not hitting him hard enough to demorph him, warning them when Norman set off his bomb. As if they didn't want anyone to get hurt. Yet they had let Norman take Jen. What had they been up to, whose side had they really been on? With a mental shrug he gave it up, as he had so many times before. 

And then he was walking into the squad room where he should find Jimmy. Spotting him across the room, talking to a man with brown hair, average size, facing away from Eric. Coming up to them, seeing Jimmy look up at him. Seeing the other man turn around. 

"Shit!" Eric stopped abruptly, staring, his heart hammering. Then rage flamed, almost blinding him. He grabbed for his blaster, snarling. 

"Eric, stop it! It's not who you think!" Jimmy was standing, stepping between them, holding his arm down. 

"It's Norman Ryder!" He pulled away, raising the blaster. "What the hell is going on?" 

"I'm sorry, but you're wrong," the man said, his voice Norman's but calmer and quieter than Eric had ever heard it before. He stood, slowly. "I'm Patrick Ryder. Norman's brother." 

"Brother?" Eric glared at him, then glanced at Jimmy. "Why should we believe him? He could have dyed his hair, or be wearing a wig again. And contact lenses." 

"What about his skin? We checked for makeup. Nothing. No sign of contacts either. And why would Norman Ryder come walking in here?" Jimmy watched him cautiously. "If you'll authorize it, we can get Norman's fingerprint records from Bio-Lab and compare them." 

Eric frowned at him. Norman had been a Bio-Lab scientist; he had been fingerprinted just like all scientific staff who worked on sensitive projects. And even identical twins had different fingerprints. "All right," he said. "We'll see who you really are." 

A quick call to Bio-Lab arranged for Norman's records to be faxed at once. Jimmy came back to stand beside him as they watched another officer take Ryder's prints and then waited for the comparison. After a few minutes of silence he spoke softly. "Now do you see why I didn't want Wes here?" 

"Yeah. Assuming this guy is who he says he is, I'd better break it to him myself. What does he want?" 

"Says he wants to tell us what happened to his brother. To take possession of Norman's house, and his bank accounts, and see if he can do anything to make up for what he did." 

"Huh. Not much chance of that." 

"That's what I told him." 

"You sound like you believe him." 

"We already looked up some records. Norman does have brothers." 

"More than one?" 

"Yeah..." 

They stopped talking as the fingerprint expert caught their eye. A moment later they were looking at the evidence, Norman's prints and the ones taken from Patrick. With a close look, even Eric could see that they were different. 

"No doubt about it," the expert confirmed. "This is not Norman Ryder." 

"I still think there's something fishy about this..." Eric cut himself off as Ryder walked up to them, still wiping fingerprint ink from his hands, smiling. 

"Now that you're sure who I am, I'd offer to shake hands," he said, "but..." He held up ink-stained fingers. Eric just stared at him. "I don't think we've been introduced," Patrick said mildly. 

"This is Eric Myers." 

"Yes. The famous Quantum Ranger. It's an honor." 

Eric looked at him sharply, wondering if there had been a hint of sarcasm there, or if it was his imagination. "Cut the bull, Ryder," he growled. 

"Call me Patrick." 

"All right. _Patrick_. Where's your brother?" 

A look of distress came over the other man's face. Eric wondered how real it was. "I'm afraid my brother is dead. That's one of the reasons I'm here. I'm having him declared legally dead." 

"Dead? How do you know? We haven't found any remains in the mine where he was last seen." Eric traded an uneasy glance with Jimmy. 

"No, he didn't die in the explosion, or the tunnel collapse that followed it." 

"How do you know so much about it?" 

"My unfortunate brother left me a message. And I found remains. In a way." Patrick sighed, apparently genuinely. "Why don't we sit down? I'll tell you the whole story." 

* * *

"My brother Norman was always a little strange." Patrick's face was solemn, with a trace of sadness. "I guess that's why we didn't have much contact. We've hardly spoken since he moved here to Silver Hills and started working at Bio-Lab. Haven't seen him for almost three years. Then, about two months ago, I got an urgent call from him. Said he needed help." 

For the sake of privacy, Eric, Jimmy, and Patrick Ryder were sitting in an interrogation room. Eric sat stiffly in one of the uncomfortable chairs, staring at Patrick. It bothered him. The resemblance was uncanny, as far as he could tell from his memories of Norman before he had changed himself. Even down to the mannerisms, and the voice. Were twins really that -- identical? 

"Naturally I flew out at once. Went to the address he had given me." Patrick stopped, staring at the floor. 

"And? What did you find?" Jimmy prompted. 

"I found Norman. In a way." He fell silent again for a moment before continuing, his voice soft. "He was already dead. But he had left me a message, on videotape. He told me about the mine explosion and cave-in. He told me about your friend. Jen Scotts." Patrick looked up briefly at both of them. 

"Norman triggered that explosion intending to escape with an experimental transporter he had built. I'm not sure how he was able to invent such a thing -- but from what little he told me, he had used a treatment on himself. It made him smarter." 

"Norman discovered a treatment that caused mutation. Used it on himself," Eric said. "It did make him smarter. It also changed his appearance." 

"Yes, I was quite shocked when I saw him on that tape. The silver hair and purplish skin, and those eyes... Almost like a different person. He seemed to act differently, too. Perhaps the treatment affected his mind, and that's why he did those things..." He leaned forward, fixing them with an intense gaze. "My brother had problems. But he was never violent, or -- or cruel before." 

Eric frowned, and asked what was the only important question as far as he was concerned. "He escaped, using a transporter. What happened to Jen? Where is she?" 

"I said he intended to escape. The transporter didn't work properly." Patrick sighed heavily, his face unhappy. "It disintegrated the two robots my brother said he built. It brought Norman and your friend to their destination, but -- the transport process damaged them." 

"What do you mean, damaged them?" Eric demanded harshly. 

"I'm sorry, but Ms. Scotts died almost instantly." 

"What? No!" Eric found himself on his feet, glaring. 

"I'm truly sorry. I realize when you didn't find bodies in that mine, you hoped she was still alive." 

Eric stared at him, trying to control the irrational anger that he knew was only his way of holding back pain. After a moment he looked away, swallowed hard, sat down again and muttered, "Go on. What about Norman?" 

"Norman survived for a short time. Long enough to leave that message." His face was shadowed by sadness again. "I suppose he wanted to say goodbye." 

Jimmy broke the silence that followed. "If Jen and Norman are dead, where are the bodies?" 

"There are none." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Realizing he was dying, Norman took Jen's body and went back into the transporter. He deliberately set it to disintegrate them, like the robots, and then to self-destruct. Said in his message that he didn't want to leave anything behind. Whether he was trying to prevent another tragedy like his, or just didn't want anyone else duplicating what he thought was a great accomplishment, I don't know." 

"But why destroy Jen's body?" 

"Again, I don't know. My impression is that Norman wasn't very rational at that point. He probably hadn't been rational for quite some time." 

"So, let me see if I understand. You found a videotape with a message from your brother claiming he and Jen are dead. No bodies, no evidence." Eric glared at him, his anger renewed. "In other words, you come in here with this bullshit story, no proof, and expect us to take your word for it!" 

Patrick looked at him with a maddening expression of compassion. "The only proof I can offer is what I found. The wreckage of the transporter machine, and..." He blinked and looked down at the table. "There are bloodstains on the floor. They had... injuries from the explosion in the mine. I've left the room almost untouched, you can have them tested for DNA." 

"Shit!" Eric was on his feet again, turning away from him, his sympathetic face, his soothing voice, the things he was saying. Jen, dead, when they had hoped... The vision of Wes's face came to him, the way it would look when he was told -- and Eric would have to be the one to tell him, it was his responsibility, couldn't even push it off on Mr. Collins, he had enough to deal with... 

Behind him, as he struggled for composure, Jimmy took up the questioning. "It's been two months. Why did you wait so long to come forward? If what you say is true, Jen's fiancé could have been told the truth weeks ago. Could have spared him a lot of wondering." 

"Like you, I didn't know what to believe at first. I had samples tested, to make sure it was really human blood I had found. Even then I wasn't sure. I searched for Norman, contacted my family, wondered what to do. I had my own shock and confusion to get through; my brother's death, trying to face the fact that he was a thief, and worse, responsible for a woman's death. I asked our other brother, Scott, to come out and help. Together we decided we had to do the right thing. So here I am." 

"Where is this, Mr. Ryder? The location you've been talking about?" 

"It's a small farm. Norman bought it some time ago, under a false name. To use it as a hideout, I suppose. Formerly the Fernwood place. Now the Ryder place. We've been living there, while we try to get this whole mess settled." 

"We'll be sending a team out there, to look for evidence." 

"Absolutely. Search wherever you want." 

Eric turned to face him again. "I want to see it too. And Wes -- Wes Collins, my partner. Jen's fiancé. He'll want to go out there." 

He got an apparently sincere smile. "Certainly. Whatever I can do to make amends for what my brother did. You and your partner are welcome anytime." 

"Don't be too generous, Mr. Ryder," Eric said softly. "I'm still not buying all of this." 

"I understand. But you'll see I'm telling the truth. And it's Patrick, remember?" 

Jimmy stood with a warning glance at Eric. "Thanks for coming in, Mr. Ryder. Patrick. We'll be seeing you soon." 

"You're quite welcome." 

Jimmy escorted him out, Eric following behind. Outside the stationhouse, they stood together, watching Patrick descend the steps and get into a parked car. 

"You don't believe him, do you?" Jimmy asked. 

"Do _you_?" 

"I have an open mind. Stranger things have happened. A lot of them have happened around here." He patted Eric's shoulder. "I know you don't want to believe Jen's dead. Neither do I. But we have to do our jobs, follow the evidence. Figure out what's true, and what isn't." 

"I know. Well, thanks for calling me in. See ya." Eric started down the steps, towards his own car, his mind already struggling with the prospect of telling Wes. He winced inwardly at the thought. But it had to be done. 

* * *

She wandered through the hall, peering into empty rooms, wondering where everyone was. She didn't like it when they disappeared, especially when they went downstairs, and into the secret room. She wasn't allowed in there, the door was always locked. They said there was dangerous equipment in there, she might get hurt. But they never wanted to talk about it. And now, they were both gone. And she wanted company. 

"Violet!" 

She turned and smiled. "Scott. I was wondering where you were." 

"Where I always am. Around." He returned the smile. "Are you bored? What would you like to do?" 

With a laugh, she turned to walk toward the large living room, the one with big windows looking out toward the road. He moved beside her. "You know what I'd like." 

"To go into town." 

"Well, yes. I'd settle for going out for a ride." She faced him eagerly. "Take me for a ride in the car! Just a drive through the country." 

He smiled again. "The car's not here right now. My brother went into town." 

"I know. But he'll be back. And then..." 

"I'm sorry, Violet. Not yet." 

She bit back her disappointed response and watched him, seeing his face serious, perhaps even sad. He really was a nice-looking man, she reflected. Average height and build, brown hair and eyes. Nice -- but what other men had she seen, outside of a few pictures? Who could she compare him to? How did she know if he was attractive or not? But somehow, she _did_ know. 

"We will be having company." 

Startled, Violet gasped, delight and nervousness flowing through her as the impact of what he had said sank in. "People? Other people? But -- who? Why?" She grinned as he turned to face her, hardly noticing his still serious expression. "No, it doesn't matter who it is. I can't wait to meet them!" 

"Violet." Her heart sank as he took her hands, his face telling her what he was going to say. "I'm sorry, but you can't meet them. You'll have to stay out of sight." 

"What? But _why_?" She felt tears prickle the backs of her eyes. "I want to see other people -- get out of here..." With a yank, she pulled her hands from his. "I need to! Don't you understand? I can't stand being shut up here anymore! Away from everything! All alone!" 

"Violet, please... Don't cry. We're not doing this to hurt you. We only want to protect you." His hands grasped her shoulders, forcing her to look up at his face again. "I'm sorry. We haven't been fair to you. Someday soon, we'll find a way. Maybe leave here, go where no one will..." He stopped abruptly. 

"Where no one will what?" 

He let go, his face becoming remote. "Nothing. I'm sorry, but you'll have to stay hidden in your room while anyone else is here. It's for your own good." 

"My own good." Violet straightened her shoulders, a determination she didn't know she possessed strengthening her. "My good. But you won't tell me why. You never tell me anything important." 

Regret touched her at the look of sadness that flickered over his face. But she said nothing. There had been guilt in that fleeting expression, too. 

* * *

TBC... 


	3. Doubles

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

Doubles

* * *

"God damn it! Why didn't you call me?" Wes jumped to his feet and glared at Eric, angry, probably unreasonably, he knew, but -- how could they have left him out... "Norman Ryder's brother shows up, and you didn't think I would want to talk to him?" 

"Jimmy and I both thought it was better if we questioned him first." 

"Did you think I can't handle it? What did you think I was going to do, beat him up?" 

"I don't know what you'd do anymore, Wes. Frankly, you've been so tense lately, I don't know what to expect." Eric's face was as blank as it usually was, but his eyes were watchful. 

"Damn it..." 

"And he's not just Norman's brother. They're twins. Identical. I thought it was Norman himself. _I_ came close to attacking him." 

"His twin? Shit." Wes paced a few steps, and turned. "Well, what did he say?" 

"Wes. Sit down." 

"Why? What did he say, damn it?" 

"I think you should sit down for this." 

"Oh, God." Wes sank into his chair, for the first time really seeing Eric's grim and unhappy expression, sympathy showing through the surface. 

"He said..." Eric hesitated, uncharacteristically seeming nervous. "I guess I should just say it. He said Norman had built a transporter, just like you thought. He and Jen used it to get out of that mine. But they didn't survive the trip. According to him, Jen's... gone." 

"Gone? Gone?" Wes turned the word over in his mind, for a few seconds unable to grasp its meaning. He whispered it to himself, suddenly feeling a dizziness as the room began to darken, and he could feel himself sliding... 

"Wes!" Eric's voice called him back, as strong hands gripped his shoulders, holding him up until the dizziness receded. "Are you all right?" The face that stared at him anxiously was unguarded for once, distress and concern written on it. "I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that." 

"Sure, sure, I'm all right." Wes shook his head, after a moment able to think again. "Gone... No, he must be lying." 

"I don't trust the guy." Eric returned to his seat. "I can't tell you if it's true or not. Didn't really want to tell you anything at this point, until we know for sure, but you would have found out anyway." 

Wes looked up at him, his anger suddenly returning. "You didn't want to tell me. I should have been there! I could have made him tell the truth!" 

"Face it, Wes, when it comes to Jen-" He cut himself off. 

"When it comes to Jen, I'm irrational. Right? That's what you were going to say?" 

"You said it. I didn't. But it's true." He watched as Wes jumped up, his fists clenching. "No one blames you, Wes, least of all me. It's only natural. But we have to be logical about this." 

"Logical!" Wes glared. "How can you be so cold-hearted?" 

Eric's eyes narrowed for a heartbeat, his face falling into the blank mask Wes had almost gotten used to. "I've been called worse." 

"Shit!" Wes turned away, agitated, not knowing if he was more angry or conscience-stricken. _You're nothing but trash, your mother was a whore, your father was a cheap crook..._ The terrible things he had said, the words that had destroyed their friendship. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" he said now. "But you'll never forgive me, will you?" 

"I told you already. Just forget it. I'm not angry." 

"Yeah, right. That's why you're acting like a stranger again." 

"Look, Wes, it's not a matter of forgiveness. What happened just made me face facts." Eric's voice was as cool as his face. 

"What facts are those?" 

"We're as different as night and day. You're a rich kid from a nice family who went to the right schools, had all the right friends, and did all the right things. I'm a poor kid who came straight out of the gutter and had to push people out of my way to get where I am. Our backgrounds, our personalities -- everything, completely different. We can work together, get along with each other. But there's no way for us to be real friends." 

"That's bullshit. We _were_ friends." 

"We were both only fooling ourselves." Wes saw him drop his eyes to his hands, the fingers curled tightly, the only sign of what he was feeling. 

"Like I said, bullshit. Haven't I always tried to help you? To be your friend? Even in the beginning, when you treated me like shit! And now, when I need you, all you can think about is your goddamn wounded pride!" He stopped, took a deep breath, and then continued more quietly. "I guess now I know how far your friendship really goes." 

"Just like _I_ found out what you really think about me." There was an edge of anger in Eric's voice. 

"That wasn't real! That was the drug Norman gave me, and the way he tried to turn me against you. I didn't mean any of that shit I said!" 

"I didn't see Norman around when you said it. Be honest, Wes. It must have come from somewhere inside you." Eric sounded quiet and reasonable again now, as Wes looked up and then away, biting his lip in guilt and frustration. "Look, this isn't getting us anywhere. And it's not what we should be worrying about right now." 

"You're right." Wes sighed. There was no point in arguing now. Maybe he was just trying to avoid facing what Eric had told him. "I don't believe it. Jen's alive. I know it." He looked at his partner again, seeing a trace of sympathy behind watchful dark eyes. "Why would Trip have said there's hope, if she's not alive?" 

"Are you sure that's what he meant?" 

"Well -- he wouldn't say anything definite. But I'm sure. She must be alive. I can _feel_ it." 

"Huh." Eric almost smiled. 

"You don't believe me?" Wes felt a prickle of anger again. 

"I don't know. We have to be realistic. Jen may be -- gone. But I have the feeling there's a lot more going on than what Patrick Ryder told us." 

Wes looked at Eric, meeting his steady gaze. "Look, I appreciate everything -- your help..." He stopped, feeling clumsy, dropped into his seat again and took a deep breath. "Okay. Tell me what he told you. Tell me everything." 

* * *

They drove out together, with Steve Miller in a Guardian SUV, in silence, Wes staring out the window over fields and forest, not really seeing them, occasionally glancing at Eric to see him with eyes locked on the road, hands firmly on the wheel, face calm and unrevealing. It seemed to take forever. He could feel the pressure, the tension. At the end of this drive, would he find the truth? Or only more questions? 

They turned off the main highway and started down a long driveway, winding through a field that might have grown crops at one time and now was only a lawn gone wild. As they approached a house, he sat forward, staring at it. 

It was big, a rambling farmhouse built for a large family. A barn bulked behind it, a detached garage next to it. The house itself had probably once been very attractive, but like the fields it was now long neglected, its elegant lines and the overgrown rose bushes lining the front hinting at former glory. 

"You ready?" They had stopped, parked, and Eric was looking at him, that cautious, guarded expression on his face again. 

Not knowing if his annoyance was at the way Eric was watching him as if he might crack at any moment, or because the anxiety had just coiled even tighter inside him, Wes nodded curtly and got out. The three of them stood looking around for a moment before starting for the door. 

It opened even before they knocked. A man smiled at them in the doorway. Hair and eyes brown instead of iridescent silver, skin normal, not pale purple, but it was Norman, just as he remembered him from Bio-Lab. No, not Norman, he had to remind himself. Norman's twin, or so he claimed. But he could barely suppress the anger he felt at the sight of that face, the urge to grab him and somehow make him give Jen back. 

A touch on his arm steadied him. Eric gave him a warning look before facing the man. "Patrick Ryder, this is Wes Collins, Jen Scott's fiancé, and Steve Miller, our second-in-command." 

"Yes. Let me say again how sorry I am for your loss, Mr. Collins. Please, come in." He smiled and motioned them in, but didn't offer to shake hands. 

They followed him in, pausing to look around a large living room with big windows facing back over the fields towards the highway. The furniture was expensive, but old, the room clean enough but with something of the same air of neglect he had seen in the outside of the house. 

"The police team is still working in the laboratory where -- where it happened," Patrick said. "I suppose you'll want to see it." 

"Yes," Wes said. "We want to see it." 

* * *

It was a laboratory, that much was obvious. Equipment and machinery scattered around, the remains of a large device in the corner. A mess, it had obviously been destroyed by a small explosion. That much of what Patrick Ryder had told them was true. Wes walked around, careful not to disturb anything. The crime scene people had already collected their evidence and taken photographs, but his training kept him cautious. 

The other machinery had been damaged, too, hard to tell what it had been for. He spotted a sheet of silvery metallic material, and reached a gloved hand to touch it. It was flexible. Another gleam caught his eye from the floor. When he knelt to take a closer look, he saw the same material, but in pale purple. 

"Found something interesting?" 

He glanced up to see Patrick standing over him. Instead of answering, he called to Eric, waiting for his partner to join them. "This looks like what Silver and Purple were made of. Their 'skin', I guess you'd call it." 

"Yeah. Maybe he built them here." 

"Or did research. This doesn't seem like a complete lab," Patrick said. 

Wes got to his feet. "Could be. We found a lot more stuff in the silver mine." His eyes automatically avoided the stains he could see on the bare wood floor. Bloodstains. His stomach lurched as his eyes unwillingly returned to that ruined machine. The teleporter that had killed Jen, according to Patrick. 

Eric's voice came from behind him. "Where's that videotape your brother left?" 

"I handed it over to Detective Duran. I imagine he'd be happy to show it to you." 

"Right." Eric started away, then stopped and looked back as Wes followed him. "Wes, I can take care of this," he said. 

"I want to see that tape." 

"Maybe you shouldn't watch it." Eric's voice was cool, his eyes cautious again. 

"I have no choice." 

Eric examined him again for a long moment, and then turned away. "Okay. Suit yourself." 

* * *

She had heard them. Footsteps and voices from downstairs. Voices she didn't know. Violet wanted to hear them, wanted to know what they were saying, more than she could remember wanting anything before in her short life. 

As footsteps approached her door, she looked up eagerly, got up from her seat. The door opened, and her face fell when Scott looked in. "Oh, it's you," she said. 

"You seem disappointed." 

"I want..." 

"I know, but you must stay here. We can't let them see you." 

"Why? What would they do?" 

"They might take you away. You wouldn't want that to happen." 

"Why would anyone do that?" 

"I -- I can't tell you." 

"Why? I don't understand!" 

"I know. But I can't tell you everything. Maybe someday." 

"Someday. It's always _someday_." The sharp note in her voice surprised her, and obviously startled him too. 

"Violet, just stay here. I'm going downstairs." 

"To the basement?" 

He paused to look back at her. "I need to make sure everything's in order. Stay here, be quiet. Lock the door." 

"All right." She pouted, but he didn't even pay attention. His footsteps faded away down the hall. 

She was alone. The voices were gone, but the people might still be in the house. Overcome by curiosity and a longing she didn't quite understand, Violet moved quietly out of the room, into the short corridor that led to the stairs and down to the main house. 

For a moment she paused, hand on the banister. It was wrong, they had told her to stay hidden, told her it was for her own protection. But something inside her was stronger than the urge to obey, stronger than her fear at the idea of meeting people she knew nothing about. It whispered at the back of her mind, a shadowy echo insisting that she _had_ to see those people. For an instant, she felt the odd conviction that she didn't belong here, had to escape; silly, since this was the only home she knew. Silently, she started down. 

* * *

Seeing Norman again on the television screen shook Wes more than he had expected, silver hair, purple skin, those chilling silver eyes holding even less sanity than he remembered. The self-made mutant was bleeding from a cut in his cheek, and another in his shoulder. He looked weakened and in pain. Dying? Impossible to tell. The recorded voice spoke quickly, the camera not moving from his face. 

_"Patrick, Scott, this is for you. So you know what happened to me. You won't find my body. I don't want to leave anything behind."_ He stopped to take a breath. 

_"I've done some things you wouldn't like. But that's all over now. All I have time to tell you is that I tried -- tried to take what I wanted..."_ A brief pause. _"The Rangers and the Silver Guardians were after me. I had to escape, with Silver and Purple, the robots I built, and Jen -- the other Ranger -- I beat all of them, but they got away..."_

He blinked, looking confused. _"What was I...? Oh, right. Jen was drugged, she didn't know what was going on. I took her with us. I'm sorry for that. I set off the self-destruct in my laboratory, but it went off so fast, we were caught in the explosion. Used the transporter to escape, but it didn't work right, hadn't tested it enough. Brought us here. Just me and Jen. Silver and Purple were gone, it must have disintegrated them."_

His words came faster, as if he was rushing to get it over. _"Jen and I were injured badly in the explosion and cave-in. Then the transport, it disrupted us on a molecular level, it was too much. Jen died in seconds. I'm dying too, I can tell. Going to take her and go back in the transporter, set it to disintegrate us. It's a quick end, and clean."_

There was another pause, as Norman peered at the camera. _"I don't have much time. Sorry. I know I let you down. Goodbye."_

The picture abruptly cut off. Wes sat woodenly, aware of Eric's gaze on him, grateful when Jimmy Duran began to talk. 

"Man of few words, wasn't he?" 

"Yes," Patrick said softly, his voice sad. "You can see he was -- dazed, maybe. Not himself." 

"Did he leave any other messages?" Steve asked. 

"Only the notes on his experiments. I learned the details about the robots and the transporter by reading them." 

"We can't let those notes be released," Eric said. Wes knew what he meant. Those things were based on future technology, too advanced for the world to know about yet. 

"Don't worry," Patrick said. "When this investigation is finished, I'll turn them over to Bio-Lab." 

Jimmy spoke up again. "Who's Scott?" 

"My other brother..." 

Wes got up, suddenly needing to escape from this room, from the talk about Norman, about evidence and scientific inventions, about everything except the only important thing. The one part of that tape that wouldn't stop replaying in his mind. _"Jen died in seconds."_

He found himself walking out of the door, and then wandering through the other rooms of the house, hardly paying attention to where he was or where he was going. _It can't be true, I know it, I feel it, and Trip said there was hope..._ He repeated it to himself, to drown out those terrible words. 

The tap of footsteps alerted him to another presence. He stopped and listened, unwilling to face talking to anyone right now, wondering which way to go to avoid them. Then he heard another set of steps, walking quickly. And then a voice, sounding angry. Norman. _Patrick,_ he reminded himself. 

"Violet! What are you doing down here! You know you weren't supposed to come out!" 

The murmur of another voice. A woman. It sent a bolt of shock through Wes, rooting him to the spot as his head spun once, sickeningly. He didn't catch the words. Then the voices were receding, footsteps starting away. All the blood in Wes's body seemed to rush back into his head, bringing a state of almost surreal awareness. He rushed after them. 

Her voice was just ahead, its tone angry. "Scott, stop pulling me! I don't _want_ to go back!" 

It took only another second for him to catch them, bursting through a doorway into a small hall. The woman was facing away from him, tall and slim, her hair brown and very short, the man glancing back at him, alarm showing on his face. It was Patrick, but she had called him Scott... For a moment he seemed ready to run and take the woman with him, his hand tightening on her arm. Then she stopped, pulled away, and turned. Wes stared, the whole world seeming to zoom in on her face. 

"Jen!" he said softly. 

* * *

TBC... 


	4. And Triples

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

And Triples

* * *

"Jen!" Wes exclaimed, more loudly this time. She just stared at him, her face betraying a mix of emotions, fearfulness, eagerness, confusion. The man reached for her arm again. She evaded him and took a step forward. 

"Hello," she said. "My name's Violet." 

"Jen..." Wes was across the room, grasping her arms. She flinched back. "Jen, oh, Jen, honey, I thought..." He moved to hug her. She pulled back, looking frightened. 

"What are you doing?" she gasped. "Who's Jen?" 

"What's wrong with you?" Confused, feeling the beginnings of panic, he let go. 

"Well. This is unfortunate." The dry voice behind him made him turn. Standing in the doorway he had just come through were Patrick, Eric, Steve, and Jimmy; Patrick frowning, Eric, Steve, and Jimmy looking astonished. Wes looked at them, then back again at the man with Jen. He and Patrick were identical to each other. 

"I see you've met my third brother, Scott. And Violet," Patrick went on, his voice completely calm. 

"What the hell..." Eric started forward. He stopped in front of Violet, staring at her closely as she fell back a step. "Jen! It _is_ you!" 

"No, I'm Violet... I don't know what you're talking about..." 

"They've done something to her!" Wes exclaimed. "Given her amnesia..." 

"And what the hell is _your_ story?" Eric demanded, staring at Scott. "Are you telling me there's _three_ of you?" 

"Identical triplets. Yes." 

Eric turned back to Patrick. "How come you didn't mention him before?" 

"I believe I told you I had called in my third brother. I didn't think it was important to mention that he's identical to myself and Norman." 

Wes turned to face him, his voice rising. "And you also didn't think it was important to mention you've got Jen stashed away here?" 

"That's not Jen Scotts. Her name is Violet." 

"She _is_ Jen! Just look at her!" 

"As you can tell by looking at Scott and myself, an identical appearance does not necessarily mean an identical person." He sighed. "I suppose another explanation is in order." 

"Yeah," Eric growled. "And it better be good." 

* * *

"Violet is a clone." 

"A _clone_?" Wes was on his feet, too agitated to sit in one of the comfortable-looking old armchairs in the library Patrick had led them into. He hardly noticed the beautiful old wood paneling, the built-in shelving crammed with books. All he could focus on was Jen -- Violet -- and what Patrick was telling them about her. "That's impossible! There's no proof a human's ever been cloned!" 

"It can be done, using known technology. And my brother Norman was a genius, with his intelligence artificially enhanced. For him, it was easy." 

"But -- but why? How? When?" 

"If you'll be patient, I'll tell you." Patrick waited for him to nod. "I'm afraid I wasn't entirely truthful with you. Norman left us a note, in addition to the videotape. When he realized your fiancée was dying, he felt guilty, I suppose. Apparently he thought he could make amends this way. By using her cells to create a clone, before he died himself. When I arrived, I found her, along with the videotape and note." 

"But -- no, it's not possible. This must be Jen." Wes took a few quick steps and stopped in front of her. He knelt to look into her face. "Jen, I know it's you. Don't you remember me?" 

"I'm sorry. I was created only two months ago, just as Patrick said. I don't remember anything before that. I've never seen you before." Her face was compassionate, but held no trace of doubt. 

He reached for her hands. "Jen, please, try to remember…" 

"I can't remember something that didn't happen to me." She gently but firmly pulled her hands out of his grip. 

"No! I know it's you! What have you done to her?" he shouted, grabbing her arms. 

She shrank away, staring, wide-eyed. "Scott…" she whimpered. 

"Mr. Collins, we all realize how you feel," Scott said, his voice level. "But you must see you're frightening her. She's still like a child, you must treat her gently." 

Wes stared into her face for a few more moments, trying to see any spark of the Jen he loved, any hint of recognition, any sign to give him hope. He found none in the fearful brown eyes locked with his. With an effort, he let go, sat back, and stood up. Stiffly, he moved back to a chair and collapsed. 

"Wes…" Eric said softly. 

"I'm okay." 

"I know something about cloning," Jimmy said, his voice hard. "You take an egg cell, implant genetic material from a cell of the original animal. It begins to develop, just like any other fertilized egg. If she's a clone, she should be a two month old fetus, not an adult woman." 

"Admittedly, she's not an ordinary clone," Patrick answered. "My brother was a genius, remember? He had developed a way of accelerating development, resulting in an adult body in only a matter of days." 

"And what about her mind?" Steve asked. "Child-like or not, she obviously didn't learn to walk and talk in only two months." 

This time Scott responded, in a voice which was eerily identical to Patrick's. "Good question. He also had found a way of recording the human brain, and duplicating its pathways. That's what he used on his robots, to make them copies of himself, mentally, emotionally, as well as physically. He recorded the patterns of Jen's brain before she died, and implanted them into Violet. She has all of Jen's knowledge and abilities, but in terms of experience, she's still a child." 

"What about her memories?" 

"Her personal memories were lost, except for a few -- echoes, I suppose you could call them, occasional faint emotions or the feeling that something is familiar." 

"I call it the ghost," Violet said. She scowled at Scott. "I wish you wouldn't talk about me like I'm not even here." 

"I'm sorry, Violet," he said gravely. "But we're talking about things you may not understand." 

"When I got here, she was already physically adult, and almost ready to be removed from the tank where she was -- well, grown," Patrick said. "As you can imagine, I was a bit overcome, suddenly facing my brother's death, his crimes, and now responsibility for the woman he had created. I called Scott, and he was good enough to come and help me. We've been taking care of her ever since." 

"Why didn't you tell us about her in the beginning? Why hide her, if you're telling the truth?" Eric demanded. 

"Cloning a human is illegal in this country." 

"So what? You're not the ones who committed the crime." 

"Look…" Scott sighed. "Can you imagine what would happen to Violet if this got out? She'd become a scientific curiosity. Poked and prodded… Almost certainly taken away from us. We didn't want that to happen. Please…" he leaned forward. "Don't tell anyone. Don't report it to the authorities. It's her only chance for a normal life." 

Violet herself spoke up again. Wes closed his eyes for a moment against the stab of pain her voice -- Jen's voice -- caused. "Scott and Patrick have been wonderful to me. They're right. Please don't turn me in. I don't want to be treated like a freak." 

Wes had been watching her, mostly, only half following the conversation. Now he spoke up suddenly. "Where is this note Norman left you?" 

"We destroyed it." 

"Why?" 

"We didn't want to keep any evidence of Violet's origin." 

"Yeah, right. Why should we believe you? You have no proof." 

"True. A DNA test would be meaningless." 

"I think we should take Violet to Bio-Lab. Maybe there's some other kind of testing we can do…" 

"No!" Violet exclaimed, eyes wide and fearful. "I don't want to! Scott…" 

Scott answered, his voice calm but intense. "Violet is an adult, at least physically, and mentally competent, even if she's somewhat immature. You have no legal way to compel her to go anywhere she doesn't want to go. Not without exposing her to the authorities, which would only result in hurting her." 

"Damn it!" Wes was on his feet again, fists clenched. 

"Wes, be cool." Eric was next to him. "There doesn't seem to be anything we can do for now. Let's go." 

"Eric's right," Jimmy added from his other side. "We need to think before we do anything." 

"No! We can't just leave her here!" 

"They're right, sir," Steve said. "We can't take her if she doesn't want to go." 

"Wes, come on," Eric said forcefully. "You're not thinking straight." 

"Shit..." Wes glared at him, at Patrick and Scott, then glanced at Violet again. "Okay. Let's get out of here. But I'll be back." 

* * *

She sat quietly, listening to the footsteps fade out of hearing. Her first encounter with other people. It had been exciting, but also frightening. For the first time, she realized how hard Scott and Patrick tried to protect her. If only they had been more honest with her, explained all the things they had said today, maybe she wouldn't have come out of her room. Now that these people knew about her, they might come back and take her away… 

But something inside her wasn't afraid of that, it was afraid they _wouldn't_ come back. _Jen_. She turned the name over in her mind. That was her name, the ghost's name. There was something about it… Suddenly she felt a longing to know more about her, the woman she was a copy of. And Wes... his face, the way he had looked at her, the way he had tried to hold her... Something about him, too; she wanted to see him again, and soon, even if he had frightened her. 

Scott and Patrick were standing by the door, talking quietly. Distracted from her thoughts, she listened to them. 

"Do you think they believed us?" 

"No. Wes certainly didn't." 

"I don't think they'll report us." 

"Neither do I. But they'll keep after us. Keep trying to find the truth." 

"Perhaps it's just as well. We couldn't keep her here forever. It's a prison for her. She wants out." 

"It was never intended to be forever. Not if his -- _our_ plans work out." 

There was a brief silence. "This isn't right. None of it." 

A pause before the answer came. "I know. But we must do it." 

"I wish…" 

"So do I." The voice was sharp, then softened as he went on. "But we were not given that choice." 

Violet listened, uncomfortable. She hated it when they talked like this, about things she didn't understand, complicated things. The ghost inside her said it was important. But it didn't help her understand. 

* * *

Wes paced nervously, looking over the people he had asked to meet with him in Alan Collins' large, dark office. They all sat quietly; Eric, Wes's father, and Daryl Gunn, head of Bio-Lab security. The other three men watched him. He had already given a quick summary of what they had found at the Ryder farmhouse, with Eric's occasional commentary, and now they were all waiting for him to continue. 

"I didn't like just leaving her there." Wes shot an irritated glance at Eric. 

"I don't see that we had a choice." 

"Maybe we should go back. Insist. Bring her here, have Dr. Zaskin do some tests…" 

"She won't want to go." 

"What if they take her away? What if I never see her again?" 

"I've already assigned a squad of Guardians to watch the house." 

"I shouldn't have let you talk me into leaving her with them!" 

Eric's voice rose with exasperation. "What did you want to do, drag her out kicking and screaming?" 

"You don't even care, do you? If she was _your_ girlfriend, would you have just left her?" 

Eric's eyes flashed, his voice taking on the tightly controlled tone that meant he was deeply angry. "I guess if she was my girlfriend, I'd probably need someone to stop me from doing something stupid!" He glared as Wes bit back a hot response that he knew would be unfair. "You think I don't care about her? That I don't want her back, almost as much as you?" 

"The best thing right now is to let them think we believe them, and keep digging," Gunn said, perhaps trying to defuse the situation. "I'll start some inquiries into the Ryder brothers. All three of them. See what kind of past they have." 

"Any way we can tell for sure whether Violet is a clone or not?" Collins asked. 

"I can ask Dr. Zaskin. I remember reading something about clones having abnormal chromosomes. But that might not mean anything, since this was a different kind of cloning process. And it won't do us any good if we can't get a DNA sample." 

"Maybe we can talk to her again. Convince her to cooperate. See if she remembers anything." 

"I'll do it," Wes said. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," Eric said. 

Wes turned on him, furious again. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

"Just that you're too close to this situation. You're out of control where Jen is concerned." 

"God damn it…" 

Collins' voice interrupted them, calm and quiet but with a core of iron that silenced them both. "That's enough. If you have nothing useful to say, I think this meeting is over." 

"It'll take a while to investigate the Ryders," Gunn said. "I might have something preliminary in a couple of days." 

"Understood. You know what to do. Wes, Eric, I'd like a word with both of you." 

Wes sat down, feeling like a child expecting a scolding, and waited while Gunn left. His father stared coldly at them, Wes fidgeting and Eric staring at the floor expressionlessly. 

"What the hell has been going on between you two?" 

"Nothing, Dad." 

"Don't tell me 'nothing'. Something's been wrong ever since Jen disappeared. At first I thought it was because of that, but now you two are at each other's throats. Wes, Eric… I want to know why." 

"With all due respect, sir, it's personal. None of your business." 

"Of course it's my _business_, Eric," Collins said, his voice surprisingly calm. "Anything that affects my son, and you, is my business." 

Wes sent a quick glance at Eric, seeing him staring stonily. He faced his father himself, mildly surprised to see he didn't look angry. "Dad -- please. It -- it was my fault. When Norman had me drugged, I said some things." 

"Like what?" 

"Stuff about Eric... I'd rather not go into it. Look, just leave it alone. It won't affect our work." 

The older man sighed. "It already has. Arguing in a meeting like this. When we have much more important things to worry about. I want it to stop. Wes, I want you to apologize for whatever you said." 

"I have. Several times." 

"And Eric, I can't believe you'd take something that happened when Wes was drugged so seriously. You need to be more understanding." 

Eric got to his feet, eyes narrowing again, his voice tight and controlled. "Are you ordering me to be your son's friend, _sir_?" Wes stared at him and then at his father, alarmed as anger flashed over his face, relieved when it disappeared again, replaced by a trace of sadness. 

"Of course not," Collins said mildly, but with a hard core in his voice. "As long as you do your job and work together, as a boss, I'm satisfied. But as a father, and as your friend, Eric, I can see you're both unhappy, and that makes me unhappy." 

Wes took a deep breath. "You're right. I'm sorry. Sorry, Eric, I was upset and taking it out on you." 

He got a quick, rather startled glance in response. "My fault too," Eric said after a moment. "I guess we're both a little stressed out." He paused, then raised his eyes to Wes's face again. "If you think you can handle talking to Jen -- Violet -- you're probably the logical one to do it." 

"That's better." Collins hesitated. "You've been good friends for over two years. That's more important than whatever quarrel you had. If you don't want to tell me about it, fine. But work it out. I'm sure whatever it is isn't worth losing your friendship over." 

Eric stood, his face cold again. "If we're done here, I should get back to work." 

Wes saw his father sigh again before answering. "Of course. Go ahead." 

Wes watched him leave, his back stiff and straight. He stood up himself. 

"Wes. Son…" 

"I'm fine, Dad. Don't worry. I've got a lot to do. See you tonight, at the house." 

A pause, then, "All right." He could feel his father's concerned eyes on his back as he left. 

* * *

TBC... 


	5. Renewal

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

Renewal

* * *

Eric looked up, alarmed, as he heard a yelp and a crash from the next room. In a moment he was off the ladder and through the doorway, stopping abruptly at the sight that met his eyes. 

Gaby was on the floor, on her hands and knees, obviously picking herself up after a fall. A large can of paint was overturned in front of her. With a curse she grabbed it, but not before most of it had spilled, spreading slowly over the plastic drop cloth laid over the floor. 

"Shit! Oh, crap!" she exclaimed. Hastily she picked up a brush and started ineffectively to try to shovel paint back in the can. Eric couldn't help it, she was half covered with paint, and looked so _grim_… He burst out laughing. 

"Very funny, laughing boy. Why don't you help, before you get the rest of the can in your face?" 

"Sorry… You just look so funny…" He managed to tone it down to a chuckle as he knelt next to her. "Here. If we both pick up the plastic, we can pour it back." Between them, they got most of the paint back in the can. "What happened?" Eric asked. 

"Oh, I slipped," she said in an irritated tone. "All this paint, and the plastic…" 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah." She looked up at him, a smile beginning to lift her face. "Some nerve, laughing at me." With a sudden move, she stroked the paintbrush over his nose. 

"Hey!" He began to laugh again, with her joining in this time, as he wiped paint from his nose, only succeeding in getting it over the rest of his face. 

"Don't try to distract me. Let's see what kind of progress you're making." Eric looked around the room. It hardly looked like the same small, dingy kitchen he had been living with for the last two and a half years. 

He had been lucky, damage from the fire Norman had started had been confined almost completely to the outside of the house. The basic structure was unharmed, and insurance had paid for most of the new siding, new windows, and resurfacing of the roof. 

Inside had been a problem too, even after the smell had faded; there was damage to the paint and some of the furniture, partly from the smoke and partly from the water that had sprayed in through broken windows as the firefighters did their job. New furniture was on the way, and Gaby had suggested -- insisted, really -- that they repaint the entire house. Ever frugal, Eric had wanted to do it himself, and she had joined in enthusiastically, claiming that they could do at least as good a job as a hired painter. 

And now here he was, spending most of his days off, like today, doing something as ordinary and domestic as painting walls. Surprisingly, he had come to enjoy it, the mindless, repetitive task soothing some of his tensions, the beginnings of pride in his home making an unfamiliar appearance in his heart. He had wondered if he had made a mistake by buying the house a year ago, especially when it was damaged, but now he was glad he had done it. 

It was a lot of work, he reflected, but it was beginning to be worth it. Now almost completely covered in a very pale yellow, the kitchen seemed larger, warmer, and infinitely more cheerful than before. "Not bad," he murmured. 

"Not bad? It's great! Now I want to see how you're doing in the living room." 

Gaby had chosen a color that looked like sand to him for this room. At first he had been skeptical, but he had to admit it looked good, adding warmth and a softer quality than the plain white he had initially wanted. 

"So? What do you think?" he asked. 

"Not bad." She grinned at him. "At this rate, you could move back in pretty soon." 

"Yeah, I guess so." Eric watched her smile again and turn to go back into the kitchen, caught off-guard by disappointment when she showed no sign of regret. 

Just about five months that they had been living together, counting the time he had spent as her live-in bodyguard. At times he would have preferred to be alone, and he suspected she had sometimes felt the same way. It had taken some adjustment and a few compromises, but it had turned out well. The thought of it ending was starting to bother him. A lot. 

But he had to be careful. No need to rush into anything, after all, and good reasons not to. They had been thrown together out of necessity, because she needed his protection. Now, with Norman presumed dead, that was no longer true, and things might change. _Don't risk it,_ the darker side of his mind insisted. _You trusted Wes, and look what happened. What makes you think Gaby is any different?_

* * *

Wes got out of his car, his heart already starting to pound. The farmhouse loomed in front of him, his imagination already picturing Patrick and Scott turning him away, refusing to let him see Violet, already hearing the excuses they'd make. But nothing was going to stop him. With a deep breath he marched up to the door, rehearsing what he was going to say. He didn't get the chance. Even as he raised his hand to knock, the door swung open. 

"Violet!" he exclaimed. 

"Mr. Collins." She smiled at him, a little tentatively. "I -- I was looking out the window…" 

"And you saw me. I'm glad." Wes forcibly restrained the way his heart was surging, and returned her smile. "You're the one I came to see." 

"Really?" 

"Really." He glanced around, reluctant to go inside, where the others would be likely to interrupt them. "Could you come out and talk with me?" 

"Well…" She looked uncertain. 

"Please. I promise not to kidnap you." 

She giggled, raising a hand to her mouth. "Maybe just for a few minutes. But I'm not supposed to go far from the house." 

"No problem. We can just walk around to the back." 

They walked together in silence, Wes watching her out of the corner of his eye, trying not to let her notice. She glanced up, caught him, and smiled. He found himself smiling back, but with a pang in his heart. She seemed so much like a child, innocent and vulnerable, very different from the strong, determined, very adult woman he remembered. Like Jen when she was a little girl, maybe. He found himself wondering what she had been like then, long before they had met, before her experiences in Time Force had hardened her. But she had always had a soft side, too, playful even, with him… 

"What do you want to talk about?" She was watching him, head tilted. 

With a start, he realized they were in the back, sitting on an old wooden bench that looked hand-made. He glanced around, seeing the back yard looking as uncared-for as the front, more fields stretching into the distance, uncultivated, the whole view speaking of disuse and neglect. 

"I guess you don't do any real farming here," he said, following his thoughts, wanting just to make conversation for the moment. 

"I want to have a garden." She pointed towards the house. "Scott said I could plant one, over there. I've been pulling up weeds. He's supposed to get me some seeds." 

"What are you going to grow?" 

She shrugged lightly. "Scott says tomatoes and stuff would be useful. But I want flowers." 

"Maybe you could come to my house sometime. We have a beautiful flower garden." He watched her carefully and added, "You -- I mean Jen -- used to love it." 

She held his eyes, smiling slightly. "What was she like?" she asked. "If you don't mind talking about her." 

"I don't mind." He sighed. "She was pretty. But you know that, just from looking in the mirror." 

Violet giggled. "I know what she _looked_ like. I mean, what was she like? On the inside?" 

"Strong. Tough, I guess. She could be intense. Sometimes people thought she was hard, but I thought -- she believed in what she did, enough to stand up for it. Loyal, sweet, kind… Loving, when she felt close to someone…" He stopped, trying to control his voice. 

"Did you love her very much?" 

"Yes. Very much." 

"Were you going to get married?" 

"Yes…" He took a deep breath, staring blindly into the distance. 

"I'm sorry." She startled him with a gentle touch on his arm, quickly withdrawn. "I shouldn't have asked." 

"No, it's all right. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually." 

"You still think I'm her." 

"I'm not sure, but… maybe." He met her eyes again, looking closely. "Violet -- are you sure? Don't you remember anything from before -- before you woke up two months ago? Just an image, or a feeling…" 

"Sometimes. But Scott says it's just the ghost. A few of Jen's memories that got transferred to me." 

"Ghost…" He looked away again, the word disturbing and depressing him. 

"I'm sorry," she said again. She stood up. "Maybe I should go back in." 

"No!" He jumped up. "Look, why don't we take a walk? You can show me around the farm, tell me what you guys do all day." He hesitated, then saw her eyes light up when he continued, "I can tell you about Silver Hills." 

"Okay." She smiled again, rather shyly. "Well, I haven't been allowed out much, so I can't show you a whole lot. But now Scott says it's okay, since you've already seen me. Maybe we can do some exploring together…" 

* * *

"So... What are you going to do now?" Gaby asked, her brows creasing. 

Eric shrugged. They had gone out to an early dinner, relaxing after a long day of painting and cleaning up. Inevitably the conversation had turned to Jen -- or Violet -- and Wes. 

"Gunn's doing a background check on the Ryder brothers. Wes went out to the farmhouse today to try to talk to Violet." 

"What's he trying to find out?" 

"Whatever he can. Maybe he can bring out some memories in her. Maybe he can persuade her to give us a DNA sample." 

"What would that prove? Her DNA would be the same as Jen's." 

"Gunn said something about cloned chromosomes being abnormal." 

"That might not prove anything either. They seem to have an explanation for everything. And whatever Norman did was something new; it might create normal chromosomes." 

"Yeah, that's pretty much what Gunn said." 

"I still don't see how it's possible to develop a complete, adult clone in a few days." 

"I don't believe it either. But as long as she says it's true, what can we do?" 

Gaby shrugged. "Well, if she _is_ Jen, if anyone can get her to remember, it's Wes. He's out there now?" 

"As we speak." 

"Eric..." She hesitated, fiddling with her fork. "What's going on with you and Wes?" 

"I told you what happened. Nothing's changed." 

"You never told me exactly what he said to you, when you were in that silver mine." 

Eric frowned. "Not worth repeating." 

She paused again, then spoke with a resolute attitude. "He was drugged. Not responsible for what he said. I don't think it's fair for you to hold it against him." 

"In vino veritas," he answered, not looking at her. 

She shook her head. "Not a fair comparison. Alcohol may bring out the truth, but the drug Norman used caused delusions, paranoid fantasies. Not truth." 

"Whatever it brought out was something Wes thinks about me. Something ugly." 

"Everyone has ugly thoughts. We can't help it. Can't you give him the benefit of the doubt?" 

He looked at her, suddenly and unreasonably annoyed. "Whose side are you on, anyway?" 

Gaby sighed. "Yours, of course. This is hurting you as much as Wes." Eric shook his head in denial. She reached out to take his hand. "You know it's true. Use some of that honesty on yourself." 

He pulled his hand back and picked up his fork again, jabbing it into a piece of potato. "And how about you?" he asked. "What kind of ugly thoughts do you have?" 

She didn't pretend to misunderstand or avoid the question. "You sure you want to know?" she asked. He nodded. "Nothing I wouldn't say to your face. Sometimes I hate the way you lose your temper. When you start yelling, and won't listen." Her eyes avoided his face. "The way you hold a grudge." 

"Is that all?" Eric asked, his voice tight. 

"Isn't it enough? But none of that means I don't..." She blinked, hesitating. "I know you have flaws, we all do. Doesn't change how I feel about you." She smiled. "Now, you can tell me what you don't like about me." 

"Huh." He found himself smiling a little. "Just that you like to butt into my business." 

"I'm not butting in. I'm concerned." 

"Call it what you want." His smile deepened as she raised an eyebrow at him and picked up her fork again. 

* * *

"I like to sit out here and watch the highway. Imagine I'm in one of those cars, going somewhere important. Having a job. Talking to lots of people. Walking around in the city..." 

Wes watched Violet's face as she spoke, a pang going through him at her wistful expression. They were sitting several yards away from the farmhouse, on a tree stump, big enough for them to sit almost side-by-side. From here they could see the road, occasional cars zooming by. 

"You feel left out, don't you?" 

"Yes. Left out of the world." 

"What would you want to do, if you went into the city? If you could do something important, like you said?" 

"I -- I don't know." She smiled. "Maybe I'd like to be a cop, or a detective, like on TV." 

Wes caught his breath. "A cop?" he asked, after a moment. "Violet... How much do you know about Jen?" 

"I didn't even know her name until yesterday." 

"Scott and Patrick never told you about her?" 

"No. Why?" 

"Well... maybe I'll tell you later." 

She pouted. "You sound like them. They're always going to tell me stuff _later_." 

"I'm sorry. It's just that Jen... always wanted to be a cop." It wasn't really a lie, Jen had wanted to be a cop, and had in fact been one, both in her own time and in the present. He didn't tell her all of the truth because he didn't want to plant ideas in her mind. If memories came later on, he wanted to be sure they were genuine, not fantasies created from knowledge about Jen's life. 

Violet was smiling. "Really? Maybe I really am like her." 

"Yes." Wes smiled, another pang going though him. "You are, very much." 

* * *

"So, excited about moving back into your house?" Gaby's face was quiet, not showing much one way or the other, as she asked. 

"I guess." 

"You don't _sound_ excited." 

"Too much other stuff going on." 

"Mm." 

He watched her as they waited for the check. The realization hit him again that he didn't really want to move back, not if it meant leaving her. For her protection, of course. He cleared his throat. "Maybe I should stay at your place a little while longer. We still don't know for sure if Norman's dead." 

She looked up quickly, face neutral. "You can't watch me forever." 

"No. But a few more weeks. At least until we figure out what's going on with Patrick and Scott." 

"And -- you want to stay at my place?" 

"Or..." He hesitated. "We could move into the house. More room." 

"Eric..." She seemed uncertain now. "Are you sure that's what you want? I have the pager and the cell phone, I could call you if anything happens. You don't have to be with me all the time." 

He blinked at her and blurted out, "Don't you want me around?" without thinking, instantly wishing he could take it back. 

But she smiled. "Of course I want you around. I thought you'd be getting tired of being around _me_ all the time by now." 

He returned the smile, relieved. "If I was, I'd tell you." 

"Yeah, you probably would," she said with a smirk. Then her expression became serious, and she lowered her eyes, fingers plucking at her napkin. "You just seem like the kind of guy who wouldn't want to be -- you know -- tied down. I thought you'd be anxious to get back in your own place." 

"Well, I'm not. I mean, I am, but I think you should come with me." He watched her smile. "As long as there's any chance Norman might still be around, I still want to make sure you're safe, after all." 

"Yeah, you can make sure I'm safe." 

Had he seen disappointment in her face, quickly hidden? But then the waiter came, they were busy with paying, and then getting up to go, and he didn't really know what he wanted, or what he could say to her, anyway. 

* * *

"Do you have to go?" 

They were at the front of the house again, Violet gazing at him, her face troubled. Wes smiled, resisting the impulse to take her in his arms. She wasn't Jen, after all, even if she was, she wasn't, not without Jen's memories, her mind. But she was so much like her... It was almost painful to be with her, and yet all he wanted was to see her again. It occurred to him to wonder if this was what Jen had felt, years ago, seeing him after losing Alex. 

"Sorry. But Scott, or Patrick, is watching. I'd better go before he comes out with a shotgun." He nodded toward the front of the house. A face was looking out between the curtains, like a protective father, making sure his daughter's date didn't try to go too far. 

"Oh... I hope he won't get mad..." 

"You're an adult, as he pointed out to us. He can't tell you what to do." He took her hands. "I had a wonderful time, talking to you." 

"Can you come back?" She blushed slightly and dropped her eyes. 

"Of course." He tightened his grip on her hands. "How about tomorrow? Maybe I can take you out?" 

"Out?" Her face was radiant as she looked up. "You mean to a restaurant, or a movie? Like a date?" 

"Yes." He couldn't help chuckling at her eager expression. "Just like a date." 

"I'll have to ask Scott." 

"Tell him I'll be a perfect gentleman. And I'll have you home before curfew." 

"Now you're teasing me." She smiled again, giving him a sideways glance that took his breath away again. So much like Jen... 

"Yes. I'll come back tomorrow. Same time. Ask Scott." 

"I will." 

As he drove away, he could still see her in the rearview mirror, standing there, waving. He strained his eyes until she was out of sight. The rest of the drive passed in a blur. _Tomorrow._ It was all he could think about. 

* * *

TBC... 


	6. False Face

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

False Face

* * *

Wes looked around. Another meeting, the same people, Daryl Gunn and Eric besides Wes himself and his father. This time Dr. Zaskin had joined them, to give them the benefit of his scientific knowledge of cloning. At a nod from Collins he stood up, looking self-conscious, to give his report. 

"I can tell you about the normal cloning process, the one that's already been done with mammals. It involves taking a cell from an adult organism, extracting the chromosomes, and inserting them into an egg cell that has had its chromosomes removed. The resulting animal isn't really a complete genetic duplicate of the original, since the mitochondrial DNA in the egg is not replaced. But it's pretty close." 

"I remember reading that the clone's DNA isn't normal," Gunn said. 

"That's right. Chromosomes age, just like a person does. The telomeres -- the ends of the chromosomes -- get shorter every time the cell divides. When they cloned that sheep, Dolly, her chromosomes were already six years 'old' when she was born. When an animal is created the normal way -- sexually -- the clock is set back, so to speak, the telomeres start out long." 

"But Norman used a different process." 

"Yes. And we don't know anything about it." 

"Patrick and Scott claim they don't know anything either," Eric said. "And we can't trust what they say anyway." 

"So if Violet's chromosomes are normal, it doesn't mean anything." Zaskin frowned. "If they're abnormal, it would prove she's a clone. Or maybe not. If they want to hide her identity, they might be able to alter Jen's DNA somehow. If they're capable of growing an adult clone in days..." He looked up suddenly. "Wait, Violet's the same age Jen was, at least physically. If her chromosomes are twenty-seven years old, the same as Jen's, that doesn't prove anything either." 

"Hmm." Collins muttered. "So we've got nothing. A DNA test is useless." 

"Unfortunately, yes. And I don't have any other suggestions, at least not at the moment." 

"Wes?" 

"I went out there yesterday. Spent some time with Violet." 

"And?" 

He hesitated. "I don't know. She's so much like Jen, but at the same time different... Too soon to tell. But I'm seeing her again tonight." 

"Good." Wes caught a considering look on his father's face, but he said nothing. "Mr. Gunn?" 

"All I've had time for is a very quick check. There are employment histories for both Patrick and Scott Ryder, in New York City. The usual driver's licenses, credit histories, and so on. But..." 

"Yes?" 

"All of the companies they worked for are now out of business. So is the real estate company they bought a house from. We haven't been able to track down anyone who actually knows them, so far." He held up a hand. "That may not mean anything. It's only been a couple of days. We just have to keep looking." 

"Keep at it." 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wes saw Eric start slightly and raise a hand to the headset he usually wore while on duty -- and which Wes usually didn't wear. He turned away from them and Wes could hear him speak softly. Then he got up. 

"Excuse me," he said. "Steve wants me to check something out." 

"Anything wrong?" Wes asked. 

"Don't know. I'll call you if it is." With that, he walked out quickly. 

"I think the meeting is over, anyway," Collins said. "Thank you, gentlemen. Keep on it." 

Wes was up and turning toward the door when his father's voice called him back. "Wes. Could I talk to you for a moment?" 

"Sure, Dad," Wes said, trying to keep the note of resignation out of his voice. 

"I just wanted to say..." Collins hesitated, looking uncharacteristically unsure. "Maybe Eric was right, that you shouldn't be seeing Violet." 

"You think I can't control myself, too?" 

"No, of course not. I think you're very emotionally involved. You've been through so much, first Jen was gone, then she's not, then she'd gone again... Seeing this girl, whoever she is, may make things worse." He paused, looking at Wes somberly. "I just don't like seeing you get hurt, son." 

"I know, Dad." Wes smiled, sadly. "But sometimes you can't avoid it. I have to know the truth. I have to keep trying, until I find it." 

"I understand. Just -- be careful." 

"Thanks. I will." 

He had almost reached the door when his father's voice came again. "Wes..." 

"Yeah?" 

"If you need to talk, about Violet... about anything..." 

"I know, Dad." He didn't quite look in his father's face, and after a moment started out again. 

* * *

Eric hurried through the corridors. He hadn't wanted to worry the others, or break up the meeting, but Steve's summons had sounded ominous. _"Gaby has a visitor. And I really think you want to be there."_ As his imagination began to take over, he almost broke into a run. 

Then he was at her door. Steve was outside, nodding to him silently as he raised a hand to knock, then opened the door without waiting for an invitation. What he saw sent a chill through him, and then a wave of anger. Gaby, sitting in her chair, tensing at the sight of him, a man sitting next to her desk. His head had turned as Eric came in. 

_Norman._ The thought flashed through his mind, quickly followed by denial. Not Norman, it must be Patrick or Scott. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, a little more angrily than he intended. 

"I thought it would be polite to apologize to Ms. Butler for what my brother did to her," he said mildly. 

"It's okay, Eric," Gaby said. "He's been very polite." 

"Yeah? Which one are you, anyway?" 

"Patrick," he said, adding to Gaby with a smile, "Most people can't tell us apart." 

Eric glared and came closer, stepping between them. "You could have written a letter, instead." 

"But that would be so impersonal. And frankly, I wanted to meet the woman Norman found so -- fascinating." 

Eric felt another surge of anger. "Well, now you've apologized. Why don't you leave?" 

"I was just passing the time. Being sociable. But I don't want to step on any territorial toes." There was a faint trace of mockery in his voice. He got up, standing face to face with Eric. 

"Good. Then get off _my_ toes and stay away from my girl." 

"Eric..." 

"That's quite all right, Gaby. You don't mind if I call you Gaby, do you? I'm going." Eric watched, fists balled, as Patrick sent a last glance back at them, his face smiling but with a darker emotion behind it, before closing the door behind him. 

"Really, Eric, that was totally rude." Gaby was on her feet, staring at him angrily. 

"We don't know who that guy really is. I don't want him around you. Next time, if he tries to see you again, call me." 

"You're talking like I'm your property. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." 

"Like you did when Norman kidnapped you?" 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Not fair." 

He sighed. "I'm _trying_ to protect you. What did he say to you, anyway?" 

"Just what he told you. Said he's sorry for what Norman did. Offered to do whatever he could to make up for it. He was very nice." 

Eric snorted, faintly and angrily. "I'll bet he was. What else did he say?" 

"Just small talk. Conversation." She crossed her arms, looking thoughtful. "He really was nice. Not at all like Norman, even before he took that treatment and changed himself. I always thought identical twins had similar personalities, but -- certainly not in this case." 

"I don't care how _nice_ he was. I don't want him making small talk with _you_." 

Her eyes widened slightly. "Are you jealous?" she demanded. 

He regarded her coldly. "That's ridiculous." 

"You are, aren't you?" To his surprise, she grinned. 

"I'm just concerned. Look, please... don't let Patrick get you alone. Or Scott. I don't trust either one of them." 

Her expression softening, Gaby sat down again. "Okay. But next time, please be a little more diplomatic? At least try?" 

"Diplomatic's not my style." 

"No, it sure isn't." She frowned. 

"Look, sorry if I overreacted." 

She smiled suddenly. "I have to admit, it was sort of exciting, in a Neanderthal kind of way." 

"So now you think I'm a caveman?" 

"Mmm. You've got the body for it, at least." 

He leaned over her, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair. "Maybe one of these days I should drag you off by the hair..." 

"Just try it, buster." 

"You'd love it." 

"Dream on!" she laughed. 

He grinned, leaned farther to kiss her quickly, and took the image of her answering smile with him as he left. 

* * *

Wes pulled up again, and watched the farmhouse for a minute before getting out of his car. He was nervous, as nervous as any guy on a first date. _It's not like that,_ he told himself sternly. _It's worse._ Not only did he have to keep her liking him enough to keep seeing him, he had to worry about her guardians, and what they might do to both of them, and wonder if she really was who he thought she was, and that wasn't even counting wondering if Norman was really dead... 

Too much, he decided. One thing at a time. Just worry about tonight. Hope she can go out, hope she'll enjoy the evening. _And I'm back to the first date scenario._ To his relief, the door opened to reveal Violet, dressed in a soft pink blouse and jeans, again before he could ring the bell. She smiled. He smiled back, until he saw someone behind her. 

"Good evening, Wes. May I call you Wes?" the man said. He seemed to notice Wes's hesitation. "I'm Scott," he added. 

"Hi. Sure, call me whatever you want." He held out his hand. 

Scott held up a very grimy pair of hands. "Sorry, I've been working in the back." He smiled and lowered them again. "So, you want to take Violet out tonight." 

"Yes. Just dinner, maybe a movie if we have time." 

"You realize there might be questions if anyone recognizes her." 

Wes was prepared. "I've already thought about that. We'll go someplace outside of town, where we won't run into anyone we know. And if anyone does recognize her, I can say she's Jen's sister. Twins, that should sound familiar." 

"Yes..." Scott eyed him with a not entirely friendly expression. "I expect you to get her home early." 

"How's ten o'clock?" 

"Good." He smiled again, at Violet. "Have a good time. Run along to the car now, I want to say something to Wes." 

She seemed annoyed for a moment, frowning at him. But all she said was, "Okay. See you later." 

They both watched her walk to the car. Then Wes turned back. Scott's face no longer held any attempt at warmth; it was blank and hard. "Don't try anything, Collins," he said softly. "Violet means a lot to us." 

"Don't worry, I won't kidnap her. I've never forced anyone to do anything they don't want to." He smiled coldly, not feeling too friendly himself. "Except criminals, of course. But I'm sure you don't have to worry about that." As Scott stared at him with no change of expression, he about-faced and started back for the car. 

Sliding into his seat, he smiled at Violet as he started the car. "So, you like Italian?" he asked. 

She looked at him, eyes wide. "I don't know." 

* * *

"Scott and Patrick won't let you leave the ranch? What do you do with yourself all day?" 

Violet shrugged. "Watch TV. Do some exercise. Walk around in the back. Read. Talk to Scott and Patrick." 

Wes watched her. He hadn't missed the trace of unhappiness. "Sounds kind of boring. You're... you seem like a very active person." 

"Maybe. I'm still only two months old, remember. Still busy learning things." 

"I suppose." He picked at his food for a moment, hardly noticing it. They had ended up in an Italian restaurant after all, since Violet had no idea of what she did or didn't like. Another possibility to pursue, he resolved, find out if her tastes in food were the same as Jen's. So far, so good; Jen liked pasta primavera and so did Violet. "Violet…" he continued. "What do you remember? I mean when you first woke up? If you don't mind talking about it." 

"I don't mind." She looked thoughtful. "There was nothing… then I opened my eyes and there were voices. I asked them, 'who am I?' And they told me." 

"Who was it who told you? Did you see them?" 

"I'm not sure. It was all foggy, sort of. I don't remember much, just weird images." 

"Like what?" 

She moved a little in her chair, making an uncomfortable face. "I don't know. It's all confusing." 

Wes hesitated, unwilling to push for more, at least not at the moment. "How about later? The first time you saw Scott and Patrick?" 

She smiled. "I just woke up and they were there. They were nice. I was scared, and they told me everything was all right. They've taken care of me ever since." 

"Did they tell you anything about Norman?" 

"They said he was sick, he did some bad things. Committed crimes. But now he's paid for them, because he's dead." She looked up at him, her expression slightly nervous, before he could ask another question. "They didn't say anything about Jen. But after a few days they told me I was a clone. And that the woman I was cloned from was dead. Norman had killed her. The same thing they told you." 

"Yeah. The same thing." 

"I'm sorry." 

Wes summoned a smile. "Not your fault." He watched her closely again as he asked, "If you knew anything -- anything at all -- about Jen, or if Norman was still alive, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?" 

"Sure." She was looking at her plate, not meeting his eyes. 

Deciding it would be wise to change the subject, Wes said, "We don't have time tonight, but maybe tomorrow I could take you for a drive through the city?" 

Her face lit up. "Oh, yes, please!" 

"All right. We can go by Bio-Lab, where I work. And the house where I live." 

"That would be great." She smiled. "Now tell me about you. About the city, and your job, and everything." 

"Well, let's see. I've lived in Silver Hills all my life, except for school. My father owns Bio-Lab. That's a big pharmaceutical company, the biggest company in town. I work there, as commander of the Silver Guardians... Eric -- you remember him -- is my partner..." 

Wes smiled, told her a few stories about life at Bio-Lab, watched her laugh. He could afford to make small talk and just enjoy the evening. There would be a next time. 

* * *

Violet smiled into the darkness of her bedroom. She couldn't sleep, feeling as if she was floating in a haze. The excitement of getting out, away from the only surroundings she knew, being with someone different, it was almost too much. She wondered when Wes would come back. How long they could spend together next time. Why she felt as if she had always known him... She wondered if she would ever be able to sleep again. 

But she did. Some unknown time later, sounds pulled her out of a pleasant dream. She opened her eyes, becoming aware of voices, Scott and Patrick, downstairs, talking, something in their tone pulling her to full awareness. After a few more moments of listening she climbed out of bed, pulled on a robe, and padded out and down to the main floor. They were just inside the front door, Scott with his hand on the knob. Both of them turned to face her, showing a flash of alarm, quickly hidden. 

"What's wrong?" she asked. "What are you doing up?" 

"Patrick and I have to go out for a while. We want you to stay in your room. Don't go out." 

"Why? What's happened?" 

"Please, just go back to bed, Violet. We'll take care of it." 

"But..." Scott stepped closer, took her arm and started to lead her back to the stairs. Violet set her feet and resisted, twisting her arm out of his grasp. "No!" she exclaimed. "I want to know what's going on!" 

"Don't worry about it. It's none of your concern." 

"Of course it's my concern!" She squared her shoulders and glared at each of them. "I'm getting a little tired of you treating me like a child! If something's wrong, I want to know! Maybe I could help, if you'd give me a chance!" 

They exchanged a long glance, some communication she couldn't share passing between them. Then Patrick smiled faintly. "I'm sorry, Violet. We can't tell you. You must trust us." 

She stared at him, then at Scott, at their blank, cool, unyielding faces. Her brief life was already long enough for her to know arguing would do her no good. They had their secrets, and they wouldn't tell. They asked her to trust them, but they didn't trust her. She schooled her face to show as little as theirs. "I suppose I have no choice," she said, turning towards the stairs. She didn't say goodnight. 

* * *

It was quiet at Bio-Lab. Steve Miller had taken a late shift, staying in his office, taking advantage of the absence of the usual interruptions to get his paperwork up to date. He yawned, glancing at the clock. Wes would have been back from his date with Violet hours ago, in bed asleep, lucky bastard. Eric was even luckier, in bed with Gaby. 

Only a couple more hours to go, then home, close up the blinds against the morning sun and try to get some sleep. He yawned again. No real need for round-the-clock coverage, but it made him feel better, with the Ryder brothers showing up. Something creepy about them, something he couldn't quite put his finger on... 

Maybe a walk around the building would wake him up. Might as well see that everything was in order, anyway. He got up and left the office. The hallways were darkened with night-level lighting, silent, except for the echoes of his footsteps. Kind of spooky. 

He was yawning again when he saw it. Lights, where they didn't belong. In one of the laboratories. The main lab, where Dr. Zaskin worked. He slowed, and approached silently, sleepiness vanishing as he peered into the large room. 

A pool of light illuminated one corner of the room. A lone figure bent over the workbench along the back wall. A man, in street clothes, not a laboratory coat. Dark hair, average size and build. That corner of the lab belonged to Rick Quinn, the most brilliant young physicist at Bio-Lab, the one who had built his own time machine, based on Jen's wrecked timeship. The time machine that had gotten them in so much trouble a few months ago. For a moment Steve wondered if it was Rick himself, doing some late night work -- but it wasn't, this man's hair was lighter and straighter, and his skin wasn't Rick's shade of light brown. 

He stepped into the lab, hand on his blaster, and got closer -- only a few yards away when the man heard him and whirled, an expression of almost savage surprise and anger on his face. They stared at each other. 

"Norman!" Steve whispered, mostly to himself. Somehow he felt it, felt a gut conviction it wasn't Patrick or Scott. But... his coloring was normal, not the silver hair and eyes and the purple skin he remembered so vividly. So it couldn't be Norman... he hesitated, confused. 

"Norman's dead," the man said, straightening and smiling coldly. "It's Patrick. You're Steve Miller, right?" 

Unconvinced, Steve tightened his grip on his blaster. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?" 

"Came to visit Wes. To give him my condolences again. He said I could stay and look around." 

"You're lying. He left this afternoon. And he would have told me." 

Patrick -- or whoever he was -- smiled again and shrugged. "I've been around for hours. Didn't realize it was so late. He must have forgotten to mention it." He moved away from the bench and stepped closer. 

Steve blocked his path. "Why here? This is a restricted area. What were you looking at?" 

"Is it? I didn't see any signs. I was curious about the scientist who invented the time machine my brother based his transporter on." 

"Time machine? I don't remember anyone telling you anything about a time machine." Steve pulled out his blaster. "Get moving. We're going to have a nice long talk." 

"You're making a mistake." 

"I don't think so." Steve stood aside, gesturing with the blaster. It was all connected somehow, he was sure of it. Patrick, or whoever he was, showing up here, where Rick Quinn had indeed built his time machine. The machine Norman had wanted to duplicate. 

He followed Patrick out, watchful for any sudden move. But when it came, it was from behind; he saw movement and whirled, caught a brief glimpse of two forms coming at him. Just enough time to recognize them, to raise his blaster before they grabbed his arms and held him helpless. Another flicker of motion, the man he had discovered in the lab was behind him, swinging something at his head, a burst of pain, a flash of white, and then darkness. 

* * *

TBC... 


	7. Sacrifice

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

Sacrifice

* * *

"You know, you should just talk to him." Gaby glanced at him in the mirror, as Eric watched her, fidgeting impatiently. It was another morning in her small apartment, the sun spilling into the bedroom as she finished dressing, picking out gleaming highlights from her brown hair as she brushed it. As usual he was ready first, and anxious to get to work. But she seemed to have other ideas. 

"Why?" 

"Because he's your best friend." 

"No he isn't." He turned away. 

"Yes, he is. He feels terrible about what happened." After a few more strokes she put the brush down, and then stood to face him. "Whatever it was, it couldn't be bad enough to end your friendship." 

"It was. And it didn't end anything. Just made me realize our 'friendship' never existed in the first place." 

"It exists for him." She crossed the room to pick up her purse. "What did he say to you that was so terrible, anyway?" 

"_He_ didn't tell you?" Eric asked, his voice resentful. 

"No. Said he'd never say something like that again." 

"I -- What's the point of repeating it?" he said irritably. "Would just -- make him look bad." 

"Yeah," she said softly. "You're not friends anymore. Look how you still protect him." 

"Well, I have to work with the guy. Can we go now?" 

"Won't you at least talk to him? Let him explain?" 

"Explain? What's there to explain?" He turned away again, his voice dropping. "Not too surprising, is it? That a rich guy like that would look down on me?" 

"He doesn't look down on you, for Christ's sake." 

"Yes, he does. You don't know what he said." 

"Because neither one of you will tell me. I can't believe Wes would say something so awful that you can't be friends with him any more..." 

"Well, you'd better believe it!" Eric turned to glare at her. "Yeah, Mr. goody-two-shoes Wes Collins. He called me sewer scum. Along with a few remarks about my parents, and how I wasn't good enough to associate with him or his father." 

"He did?" She frowned at him. "I can't blame you for being angry. But I'm sure he didn't mean it." 

"I was there," he muttered. "He meant it, all right. And I'm not angry. I just know the truth now. And I wish you'd leave it alone!" 

"I wish you'd listen!" She lowered her voice with a sigh. "Why would he make friends with you if he didn't mean it? If he didn't like you?" 

"Well... It's in his nature to try to get along. To make people like him. But he wouldn't have bothered if not for _this_." He held up his morpher. "I'm only valuable to him because of the morpher. That's why he made friends with me in the first place." 

"I think he wouldn't have gone out of his way if he didn't like you. Can't you just give him another chance?" 

"Why?" He stared coldly. "Because you want us to have rich friends? Or because he's the boss's son? Did he put you up to this?" 

Her eyes lit with irritation. "No, he didn't put me up to it. And his father has nothing to do with it. You just don't trust anyone, do you? Including me!" 

"A lot of people have let me down." 

"Well, I'm not one of them." 

"Not _yet_." He paused as her face flared with hurt and anger. "Look, I'm sorry. But -- Wes was one of the people I really... believed in. And look what happened. People surprise you. You never really know anyone. It's just reality." He paused, watching her stubbornly disbelieving expression. "You'll find that out someday too." 

She shot him a sharp look. "You think no one ever hurt me? I've had guys who dumped me, friends who let me down, bosses who treated me like shit." She paused, her voice turning bitter as she went on. "I had a serious boyfriend, a few years ago. Thought we were in love. Until I found out he was cheating on me with my roommate's best friend. When I confronted him, he said it was my fault, for being too demanding. Tried to blame me for everything... So don't tell me I don't know what it's like to have someone let me down." 

"Did you just forgive this guy? Would you trust him again?" 

"Well... maybe not." She gave him an unreadable look and went on in a lower voice. "But... everyone will disappoint you sooner or later in some way. You can't go around never forgiving anyone. You'll have no one left." 

That hard core of bitterness that lived inside him seemed to absorb the anger, leaving him feeling only empty and sad now. "Maybe you're right. But I don't know if I _can_ go back to being friends with Wes. I'll always remember this. Never be able to trust him again." 

"People aren't perfect, Eric," she murmured. "We all make mistakes, sometimes big ones. A lot of people have forgiven _you_, after all, including Wes." 

"And including you?" 

"You haven't given me much to forgive." She raised her head to look at him, smiling. "Will you at least think about it?" 

He returned the smile, crossed the space between them, and pulled her head against his chest, brushing his lips over her hair. "Yeah. I'll think about it." 

"Good." She looked at her watch. "Shit, we're late. Let's go." 

As they headed for the door, Eric rested an arm over her shoulders. "So, this jerk who cheated on you," he said. "What's his name? Where does he live?" 

"Eric, don't you dare..." 

* * *

Wes stirred at the sound of the alarm, and rolled over, slapping the button to stop the noise. He sank back onto the pillow, searching for another moment of sleep, but it wouldn't come. Might as well get up. 

A walk across the bedroom, one of the many guest bedrooms in his father's house. Funny how he didn't think of it as _his_ house anymore. It didn't feel like home, not since he had moved out of his old room, the room he and Jen had shared. With the ease of practice, he pushed that thought away. 

This room was just as large, but it wasn't the same. The bathroom he entered was newer, cleaner, but it wasn't the same... He dropped his pajamas on the floor and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water running over his body wash away some of the tension that filled him. 

He sighed as he stepped out, pulled a towel from the rack, and started to dry himself. Next, get dressed. Walk down the stairs. Produce a smile for his father as he joined him at the breakfast table. Act like everything was all right. 

He found himself hesitating as he passed the door to his room. After a moment, he turned the knob and took a few steps inside. The air was fresh, thanks to an open window, the staff had dusted and cleaned, but it still had the subtle feel of disuse... and the echoes of the love that had once lived here. 

Violet. If only... If he brought her here, would it help? So many memories in this room, how could she not feel them? If Jen was really alive somewhere inside her, this was surely the place to find her. Not yet, perhaps. But someday... 

* * *

_Tunnels... a string of bare light bulbs... running, with Wes, Trip, and Katie pulling her along... But it wasn't Wes, it was Norman, and it wasn't Trip and Katie... Silver and Purple, Norman's robots... They ran, then they were in a big room, crowded with equipment, she looked back and saw Eric, in his Quantum Ranger suit, and Wes, demorphed, a glimpse of Steve's face; they were coming after her, trying to help her, she realized, but it was too late, a roar, a flash, something falling on her, pain, and then nothingness..._

Violet woke with a start, gasping for air, the echoes of her own scream in her ears, her heart filled with unreasoning terror. Dazed, she looked around. Her bedroom -- where was Wes? But the thought faded as if it had never been, just as the dream was fading into nothing. She jumped, clutching the sheet to her chest, as her bedroom door burst open. 

"Violet!" Scott was bending over her. 

She looked up into his face, still disoriented, even afraid of him for a moment. "Scott?" she said in a small voice. 

"What happened? We heard you scream." Another form stepped into view. Patrick, also looking down at her with an expression of concern. 

"I..." She raised a trembling hand to her head. "It must have been a nightmare." 

"What was it? What did you dream?" Patrick asked quickly. 

"What... I'm not sure." Her gaze dropped from their faces as she tried to remember, but it slipped away. "Just -- running. Someone chasing us." She looked up again. "I've never had a nightmare before." 

"We know." Scott straightened and exchanged a glance with Patrick. He turned back to her. "Do you want one of us to stay with you?" 

"No..." She looked at the window, early light beaming through. "It's morning. I might as well get up." Then memory struck her. "What happened last night?" 

They exchanged another one of those communicative glances. "We did what we had to do," Scott answered. 

"And you won't tell me about it." 

A pause, before Scott answered again, sounding reluctant. "We're sorry, but we can't. It's taken care of. Don't worry about it." 

She noticed they were both still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. "When did you get in?" 

"A little while ago." Scott took a step back. "We'll go and let you get dressed." 

She threw clothes on quickly and started downstairs, some bright and alert instinct telling her something was wrong. And that they would never tell her what it was. Always treating her like a baby... Impatience stirred inside her. When would they realize she was an adult woman? _And when did **I** realize that?_ she wondered a moment later. Just outside the kitchen she heard voices and paused, then crept closer, feeling a small stab of conscience at her eavesdropping, but this was the only way, they would never tell her the truth, somehow she knew that. 

She knew them well enough to see and hear the subtle differences between them. Now, she knew it was Patrick speaking, as she listened from behind the partially open door. 

"We should call. Get help." 

"Too dangerous. They'd trace the call. And by the time we could get to a public phone, Eric will be there anyway." 

"I hope it's not too late." 

"We already disobeyed, by leaving him alive. We've done all we can do." 

She waited, but there was no more. Something bad had happened. She wondered who it was they had left alive, who it was they were worried about. _Not Wes, please,_ she thought with a pang of fear. 

* * *

They arrived at Bio-Lab, just like any other morning, in one car this time, since Eric planned on going home with Gaby that evening. They parked, got out, hurried to the front door and down the hallway. Paused in front of Gaby's office door. 

"Sorry to rush, but I'm late," she said, fishing in her purse for her office key. 

"And whose fault is that?" he asked. 

She made a face at him. "Oh, go on, don't you have work to do?" 

"See you for lunch?" 

"Sure." She smiled and pecked him quickly on the chin before opening her door. 

And then he was on his way to his own office, automatically glancing into the rooms he passed, noting that nothing was out of place. Only a few minutes walk until he stopped in front of his door. A few seconds to find his key, a moment of surprise as he turned it, and found the door already unlocked. He always locked his door at night... A second to push the door open, an endless moment to stand, frozen in shock and horror. 

Without thinking, almost without realizing it, he raised his morpher to his face, hearing his voice tremble as he called. "Wes?" 

The response came quickly. _"Eric? What's wrong?"_

"I'm in my office... I... We need help, a doctor..." 

_"Are you all right?"_

"It's Steve, he's hurt." Eric could feel his mind and his voice becoming steadier. "I'll call 911. You see if you can get someone from the infirmary. Hurry!" 

_"Right. I'll call, and be right there."_

Moments later Eric held his cell phone to his ear, only half aware of the 911 operator assuring him help was on the way. His desk phone had been ripped loose and thrown on the floor, along with everything else that had been on his desk. In their place... 

Steve Miller lay on his back across the desktop, arms and legs dangling over the edges, eyes closed, still breathing, thank God, blood matted in his hair, smeared across his face, and pooled beneath his head. It had dripped down the side of the desk, leaving red trails, spreading a dark stain across the carpet, still wet. So much blood... he could almost smell it... Eric was far from being squeamish, but nausea knotted his stomach. 

Spread out, like a primitive sacrifice, his desk used as the altar... He swallowed. Why? Steve had made a few enemies, it was inevitable in his job. Had one of them done this, for revenge? Or had he surprised a thief last night while on duty? Had this simply seemed like a convenient place to leave his unconscious body, or was there more to it? The attack might have been directed against Steve, but this... Had whoever did this meant him to find his friend dead? There were only three people in the world more important to him... his stomach twisted again at the thought of finding one of them like this. 

He heard running footsteps and turned to see Wes charge into the doorway, stare, and gasp, "Oh my God..." 

"I found him like this. My door was unlocked." His mouth tightened. "I think someone wanted me to see it..." 

"But... who would have done this?" 

"I don't know." But his jaw clenched as the image of Patrick Ryder flashed across his mind. 

Before Wes could respond, Eric saw movement in the hallway, and recognized one of the doctors from the infirmary, and a nurse. He and Wes stood aside to let them go in. In moments they were bent over Steve, murmuring to each other. And then more people, paramedics rushing in with their equipment, as his office filled with activity. 

It took a while, but a stretcher arrived, Steve was finally fitted with a neck support and lifted onto it, and then was being wheeled out. As Eric started after it, he spotted Gaby in the crowd of employees who had gathered in the hallway. Silently, he reached out to her, and folded her in his arms as she pressed her face into his neck, for once not caring who saw them. 

"Is he going to be all right?" she asked. 

"I don't know. I just know I'm going to get whoever did this. And I have a few ideas." 

She tilted her head back to look at him. "Don't do anything..." 

"What? Stupid?" He let go and stepped back. 

"She's right." Wes had appeared next to them, his eyes moving to meet Eric's. "No proof," he said softly. "No evidence of any kind. We'll get the cops in." 

"We can do this ourselves." 

"With the police, Eric." 

He snarled, unreasoning rage beginning to replace horror. "No! I want to go out there and take care of them, my way!" 

"Now who's being irrational?" 

"Wes, please..." Gaby glanced at him, then turned her attention back to Eric. "Think about it. What possible motive would Patrick or Scott have to do this? You have no logical reason to think it's them." 

"Shit..." He sighed. "I'd better go to the hospital with Steve." 

"Okay. Maybe I'll see you later," Wes said. 

Something in his face caught Eric's attention. "What are you going to do?" 

"See Violet. If it _is_ them, maybe she knows something. Meanwhile, you should talk to the police." 

It made sense. He would rather have gone out to that farmhouse, kicked down the door, and beaten the truth out of Patrick and Scott, but... "Okay," he said. Wes turned away, then stopped long enough for a faint smile as he added, "Thanks." 

* * *

It was an hour before Wes could get away from Bio-Lab, another half-hour before he parked at the Ryder house and stared for a few moments before getting out of the car. The old farmhouse looked sinister to him now, as he wondered what secrets it hid, what really went on in those rooms. But he wasn't going to find out by standing there. He walked quickly to the front door. 

When the door opened he was disappointed to see a man facing him. "Which one are you?" he demanded, rudely. 

"Scott," he said, looking Wes up and down coldly. "What do you want?" 

"I want to talk to Violet." 

"She's busy." 

"It's important." Wes took a step forward, but Scott stayed where he was, blocking the way, his eyes flaring with anger. "I intend to see her," he said, letting his own anger show. 

"Wes!" Violet's voice interrupted them, her face appeared over Scott's shoulder, smiling at him. "Wes, I -- I'm glad to see you!" 

"Violet. Tell your guard dog here to let me talk to you." 

"She doesn't want to talk to you." 

Violet spoke up before he could answer. "Yes, I do!" 

"Violet, it's not a good idea." 

"Why? What are you afraid she'll tell me?" 

"Nothing." 

"Scott, let me go out and talk to him." 

Wes caught another flash of anger in Scott's face, something chilling, as he stood aside. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder if he was putting Violet in danger by coming to see her. But he had little choice at this point. He resolved to make it fast. 

They retreated to his car to talk. Wes faced her, seeing a smile that quickly faded. "What's wrong?" she asked. 

"You remember Steve Miller? The short man, dark hair, wearing a uniform like mine, who came here with me and Eric?" 

"Yes, I remember..." He thought he saw a hint of caution come into her expression. 

"He was attacked, last night or early this morning, at Bio-Lab. Could have died. Still might." 

Her eyes had dropped to the ground as he spoke. "That's terrible," she said softly. "I hope he'll be all right." 

"Yes, it's terrible." Wes paused, watching her, and then just asked it. "Do you know anything about it?" 

Her gaze jerked back up to his face. "Do I... Why would I know anything?" 

"Because something's going on here. Something Patrick and Scott haven't told us. I don't trust them." 

She was staring at the ground again, her face set and unhappy. "Wes, they've been so good to me, like parents... I'm sure they would never do anything wrong..." Despite her words, the face she raised to him was troubled. 

Anger pushed Wes to keep going. "Steve was left in Eric's office, badly injured. Lying on his desk for him to find, for Christ's sake, blood all over... If you're protecting the kind of -- of monsters who could do that..." 

She shook her head, staring at him. "They would never do something like that! They couldn't!" But her voice quivered slightly, and he thought he could see the sparkle of tears in her eyes. 

"Jen would tell me the truth. She always tried to do the right thing. If she's inside you, somewhere..." Wes trailed off as Violet pressed a hand to her mouth, turning her head, her eyes filling with pain. 

"I'm not Jen!" she cried. "I know you want me to be her, but I'm not!" 

Unexpected compassion softened his determination, blunted his anger. He reached to touch her cheek, then quickly pulled his hand back. "All right," he said. "I'm sorry, Violet." 

She still avoided his gaze. "Maybe you should go." 

Guilt and frustration briefly struggled inside him, but he sensed arguments or apologies would do more harm than good. "All right. But -- look, if you need to tell me anything, or just talk, or if -- if anything happens and you need help... here's my number." He handed her one of his business cards. "You can always reach me on my cell phone. Call anytime. For any reason." 

She took it, looked at it, folded it into her hand, and nodded without looking at him. 

"Better go back now," Wes said. "And -- don't tell Scott what I said. Tell him I asked you to go out with me again. Tell him anything." 

She nodded again, and stood there, not moving as he drove off. 

* * *

TBC... 


	8. Sticks and Stones

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

Sticks and Stones

* * *

There were guards posted outside the hospital room, two Silver Guardians, trying to stay alert in uncomfortable chairs. Wes nodded to them. There was no need for words, he opened the door quietly, and went in. It was almost silent inside, except for the soft beep of medical equipment. The lights were lowered. He gazed at Steve's pale face, and took a few steps to his bedside, before he saw the other person in the room. Eric was in a chair by the window, had probably been there all day while Wes took care of necessary business at Bio-Lab. He turned back to watch Steve for a few moments, and then pulled up a chair and sat down. 

"How is he?" he asked, keeping his voice low. 

Eric shrugged. "The doctor said he has a concussion. They've done what they can, just have to wait for him to wake up. Hope he'll be all right." 

"Yeah. Hope so." He turned his head to watch the bed and its silent occupant again. "Have you been here all this time?" 

"Went downstairs to get something to eat." 

"Good. You could go home now, if you want. I'll stick around." 

"No, Gaby's meeting me here soon." Eric paused, something in his attitude transmitting tension. "How'd it go with Violet?" he asked after a moment. 

"She said she doesn't know anything. But -- I don't know. She seemed uncomfortable. I have the feeling something's going on." 

Eric looked at him sharply. "Jen would never cover up for someone who did something like this." 

Wes hesitated. "Patrick and Scott are like her family. She feels loyal to them." 

"Would she let them get away with something like this?" Eric nodded towards the bed and its unconscious occupant, his voice rising in anger. 

He didn't know for sure, not by any process of logic. All he had was faith, his conviction that Jen was there, buried somewhere inside Violet, some deep inner sense that refused to be shaken, telling him that she would never let him down. "She'll do the right thing," he said finally. 

"I hope so." 

They both sat silently for a while after that, listening to the sounds of machinery, the occasional faint voice or footstep from outside the room. It was so quiet, peaceful really, that Wes found himself relaxing a little. But not Eric. Wes watched as he restlessly got up and walked to the window, pulling up the blinds to look out over the lights of the nighttime city. 

"Anything wrong?" he asked. 

The answer took a few moments. "You know what Gaby told me, when I called her up from here?" 

"No… what?" Wes prompted. 

"I asked her to get a phone number so I could notify Steve's family, so they could get here to see him. She said he doesn't have anyone here, his parents are living in Europe and he's an only child." 

"Yeah, I know," Wes said cautiously. "So?" 

"I didn't know that. I knew he's not married, from his personnel records. But I didn't know anything about his parents, or the rest of his family. Don't know anything about his friends, or even if he has any, or if he has a girlfriend. He could have a boyfriend, for all I know. I'll bet he's told _you_ all that stuff. I've worked with the guy for more than two years, longer than either you or Gaby. Thought we were close. But I never talked about anything personal with him. Never bothered to get to know him." 

At a loss, Wes struggled to find something to say. "Well, you tend to stick to business. He's like that too." 

"But he talked to Gaby about his personal life. Probably to you, too." 

"Well, I guess…" 

Eric turned his back to the window, leaning against the frame, his face shadowed. "I've never had much in the way of friends. Never tried. Didn't think I wanted them. Let someone get too close, and they're just -- in a better position to hurt you." 

Wes tried to blink back his own surge of guilt. "Like I did to you. Is that what you're getting at?" 

"I don't know…" Eric's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh as he turned his profile to Wes, glancing out the window again. His voice sounded forced when he continued. "I guess I'm saying I don't know how to be a friend. How to get close. Even with Gaby… You and she are about the only people I felt like I really trusted, but..." 

"But not any more," Wes said softly. 

"No… I guess not." 

"What happened… it wasn't real. It wasn't the way I really feel. I wish you could believe that." 

"It hurt, Wes. It really hurt." His voice was low, his face turned away. Wes watched, seeing the muscles of Eric's jaw clench, realizing what it must have cost a man as proud as he was to make an admission like that. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know it doesn't help. But it's true." 

"_Why?_" He was facing Wes again, his voice tense, with an edge of anger. "Explain it to me. At that moment, why did you hate me so much?" 

"Eric…" Wes looked away, unable to face the intensity, the accusation, in his expression. "It wasn't _you_. I was in a fantasy. Everything was different, everyone was against me. You weren't the only one." He looked up, taking a breath to help him find the courage to be completely honest. "Norman started it, by suggesting to me that you and Jen were sleeping together. I just went crazy with jealousy. All the things you said about her..." 

"Not _me_, Wes. Your idea of what I'm like." 

"I know. And you're right, a lot of it came from me." A hint of the dark emotions of that dream world came back as he went on, his voice sinking almost into a whisper. "In the fantasy, my dad said you were better than me. You came out of -- of nothing, and nowhere. No education, no family, no money, no advantages. I had everything, every opportunity. But now -- we have the same job, and you know more about the business side of Bio-Lab than I do. He was right, about the real world too. You're tougher, more hard-working, and more ambitious than I am. You've pulled yourself up out of the gutter, and I've barely stayed where I'm supposed to be." 

Wes raised his eyes to meet Eric's. "Hasn't it occurred to you that maybe I feel threatened? That I'm envious of you?" 

Eric's mouth twisted in a bitter huff of laughter. "_You're_ envious of _me_? When you're the boss's son? The one who never needs to worry about getting fired, or what people think of you, or what kind of future you'll have?" He straightened, fingers curling. "The guy everyone _likes_, for Chrissakes. The guy who never has trouble talking to anyone, the guy who can get along with everyone, who never makes enemies…" 

He stopped, and then leaned back against the window frame again. "The truth is, I'm no competition for you. Even when it comes to the Guardians. You have a different style, but it's just as effective as mine. You're so damn laid-back... I've always wondered why the guys work just as hard for you as they do for me. But they do. And on the business end… people will always want to deal with you. Not me." 

"I don't know about that. You've always managed to get what you want." 

Eric snorted faintly. "Not always." 

Wes smiled. "Why? What do you want now that you don't have?" 

Eric's eyes rested on him for a long moment. "I want things back the way they were," he finally said, very quietly. 

"So do I. But that's up to you, isn't it?" 

"Wes…" He turned his eyes away again. "I wish I could just forget about it. But it happened. It changed things. No going back." 

It felt even more bitter than he had thought it would. Wes swallowed disappointment and frustration, and even tried to smile, although his lips trembled. He felt Eric's gaze on him and controlled himself with an effort. "I don't believe that," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "This morning, when you found Steve, remember what you did first? You called _me_. Not 911, or the infirmary. _Me._ Somewhere inside, you still trust me, dammit. We _are_ still friends. Brothers. And someday you'll realize it." 

He saw a hint of a smile in response. "And people think _I'm_ stubborn…" Eric said softly. 

"I never give up, remember? Not when it's this important." 

"Well..." Eric crossed his arms, his body relaxing slightly. "At least you didn't call me a Chink." 

"Probably would have, but I didn't think of it." 

Eric surprised him with a laugh. And, for a moment, things _were_ the way they used to be, as the two of them smiled at each other. 

* * *

Gaby got out of her car and stared up at the hospital building looming above her against the night sky, for a moment wondering which of those identical windows hid the room Steve was in. She had called, she knew he was still unconscious, in critical but stable condition, under observation. And Eric would be there, waiting. 

Giving her another reason to come. To see Steve, of course, but also to make Eric go home and get some rest. After the shock of finding his friend and co-worker like that, he would be upset. And, as usual, refusing to admit it. For a moment she heaved a small inner sigh. Would have been easier to just go home, let Eric deal with his problems, his _many_ problems, by himself. But she quickly stifled that unworthy thought. 

And of course, he'd be angry if he knew she had come alone. When they had spoken during the day, he had told her he wanted her to have a bodyguard again. He was being paranoid, of course, the attack on Steve didn't mean she was in danger. So she had ignored him, and left Bio-Lab alone. She didn't want to go back to being watched all the time, being dependant, having to wait for someone to be available, feeling guilty at taking up their time for what must be a very boring job. Only a quick drive from work to the hospital, and Eric was here, it had seemed safe enough. 

She was almost there, almost inside the door, almost safe in the bright reception room, when he stepped into her path. She stopped, staring, heart beginning to pound, the unwelcome memory of another night coming back. The same face was before her now -- almost the same face. But the one she was looking at tonight was human, not the silver-haired, purple-skinned mutant who had taken her by force all those months ago. 

"Gaby," he said. "It's Patrick. Please wait, I want to talk to you." 

Patrick. Not so frightening, after all. But she could still feel icy fear trickle through her veins. "What about?" she asked, trying not to show it as she stepped back. 

"I know Steve Miller is here. I know he was injured." 

"Yes?" 

"Are you going to see him?" 

"Yes. As soon as I can get inside." She stepped to the side, trying to get around him. 

He reached out, a hand grasping her arm, his fingers hard and cold on her bare skin, his grip surprisingly strong. "Gaby -- please don't be afraid of me," he murmured. "I don't want to harm you." His tone was so sincere, she resisted the impulse to struggle, and met his eyes. 

"What do you want?" 

"Just to say -- we're sorry he was hurt." 

"What?" She stared at him, startled. "What do you mean? Did you have something to do with this?" 

"No." His face blanked, as if a blind had been drawn. "But I know Wes suspects us. Probably Eric, too." 

"They do? Why?" It was a disingenuous question; she knew perfectly well why. 

"Whatever goes wrong, they'll blame us. I suppose it's natural enough. They think Violet is Jen, that we're keeping her from them." His expression showed a trace of bitterness. "We'll never find any peace here. All we want is to be left alone. To take care of Violet, try to make up for some of what Norman did. But his -- his evil lives on…" He looked slightly amused as she stared at him quizzically, lifting her brows. "Melodramatic, I know. But that's Norman." 

"You mean that _was_ Norman." 

"Quite." He was definitely amused now, but with an edge of something unhappy. Then he continued in an impersonal tone. "Well. I'll let you get going. I hope Mr. Miller will make a complete recovery." 

"So do I," she said automatically. 

"And I hope your Silver Guardians and the police will find whoever was responsible. A burglar, undoubtedly. Miller must have surprised him, and was overpowered." 

"But why leave Steve spread out on Eric's desk like that?" Gaby said, watching him closely. "Maybe whoever did that wanted to hurt Eric. Or meant it as a warning." 

There was a flicker in Patrick's eyes, only for a moment before it vanished in cold darkness. "Or maybe -- whoever it was -- wanted to make sure Miller was found as soon as possible," he said, his voice revealing nothing. "Wanted him to get help quickly. Didn't want him to die." 

"A sudden attack of conscience? Hard to believe." 

"Perhaps. I should go." He took a step back, looked at her for a moment, and then smiled. "I really do see why Norman liked you so much," he said softly. "Thank you for talking to me." 

She shrugged. "No problem." 

"Goodnight." 

And in a moment he was gone into the shadows, moving quickly, vanishing as if she had never seen him. Leaving her with the question of what, and whether to tell Eric. What Patrick had said might be important. But what _had_ he said, exactly? What did it mean, if anything? Wes and Eric already suspected the Ryders, after all. And if she told, Eric would fly into one of his rages -- at Patrick, for daring to approach her, at her, for going out without a guard. 

It was late, she was tired, Eric had enough to think about for one day. Maybe she didn't need to tell him now. Later… It could wait until tomorrow... 

* * *

She stood in the basement, near the entrance to the secret rooms below. Violet stared down, wondering. What had happened last night, that Scott and Patrick hadn't told her? There were so many things they hid from her, she suspected many more than she had any idea of. What had they done? If they had hurt that man -- but she couldn't believe it, not for a second, not her gentle Scott and Patrick. 

"Violet?" She turned. Scott was at the foot of the stairs leading up to the rest of the house, watching her. "What are you doing up so late?" he asked. 

She hadn't even thought about sleep. After restless and troubled hours, she had found herself down here. "Thinking," she answered. 

"About what?" 

"What happened last night? Did -- did you have anything to do with the attack on Steve Miller at Bio-Lab?" 

Scott took a step closer, his face unreadable in the semi-darkness of the basement. "We did not harm him," came the soft reply. 

"But -- then, where were you? Where did you go?" 

"We did what we had to do. That's all I can tell you. But Patrick and I did not hurt anyone." 

"So many secrets," she said softly. "Why? What are you doing here? What else aren't you telling me?" 

They stared into each other's faces for a few endless moments. "I've told you all I can," he finally said. "Please... trust us. We're trying so hard to protect you, to..." His eyes drifted away, his voice fading. "Trying to keep things under control..." 

"_What_ things?" 

"Please. Don't ask me questions I can't answer." 

Tears of frustration and uncertainty blurred her eyes. He didn't stop her when she went past him, didn't even turn around when she started up the stairs. Looking back, she felt such a wave of pity when she saw him still standing, shoulders slumped and head bowed, that she stopped and slowly went back, to slide her arms around his waist, her head leaning on his back. 

"I'm sorry, Scott," she said. "I know you're trying to do the right thing." 

"Yes." The answer was toneless, but his hand came up to touch her fingers. 

"I want to do the right thing too, don't you understand?" 

"We each will do what we must." 

"Yes. What we must." She let go and started up the stairs again, this time not looking back. 

Upstairs in her room, she undressed and went to bed. Some core of discipline she hadn't known she possessed helped her sleep a few hours. She knew she would need the rest, would need her strength, if her plan was going to work. 

At the first hint of light through her window, before Scott and Patrick would be up, it took only minutes to collect the few things she thought she'd need, a few more minutes to slip outside unseen, run across the field to the highway under the morning sky, Wes's card with his phone number clutched in her hand. 

* * *

TBC... 


	9. Unmasking

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

Unmasking

* * *

_"Wes, I think you need to get down here."_

The phone had rung almost as soon as he had gotten out of bed on this Saturday morning. It was Jimmy Duran, his voice urgent enough to overcome Wes's annoyance at being interrupted so early, and at home. He frowned and asked, "What's the problem?" 

_"We have a guest. Patrol car picked her up on Highway 9, just outside town. She's asking for you."_

Highway 9. The road that ran past the Ryder farm… "Violet?" 

_"That's right."_

"I'll be right there." 

* * *

"I wish you didn't have to go to work," Gaby said as Eric pulled over in front of his house, automatically noting that the two Silver Guardian bodyguards he had insisted on for her had arrived and were sitting in an SUV a few yards away. 

"With Steve in the hospital, someone's got to cover at Bio-Lab. Even on the weekend." 

"How about Wes?" 

"He's going to visit Steve, maybe try talking to Violet again." Eric hesitated, hands still gripping the wheel. "We had a talk last night, before you got there." 

"Really? You didn't say anything." 

"Yeah, I know. Just didn't feel up to talking about it." He hadn't felt like a discussion, not after an exhausting day. That conversation with Wes had been difficult; it was always hard for him to open up, to expose anything underneath the tough exterior a lifetime of self-protection had built around him. He had needed time to think about it, to figure out how he felt. "Besides, you were pretty quiet yourself," he added. 

"Yeah. I was tired." She looked down at her hands, then up at him again. "So what happened? What did you say?" 

"I said what I thought. So did he." 

"Did you two kiss and make up already?" 

He chuckled. "It's a start." 

She was smiling, looking amused. "Is that all you're going to tell me?" 

"Yeah, for now. Gotta get going." 

"You're such a tease... Well, I'm proud of you." 

"For what?" 

"For getting past that macho shell you put around yourself." 

He scowled at her, but a smile was trying to break through. "Hmmh. I'll have to think about whether that was an insult. See ya later." He leaned over to kiss her before she slid out of the car, watched as she waved to the two Guardians and walked to his front door. Truthfully, he would have liked to stay, especially since she was working on finishing up the painting. Didn't seem fair, the amount of time and effort she was putting in, for his benefit, but she insisted. Of course, if she moved in, it would be for her benefit, too… 

He sighed, as he put the car in gear and pulled out. His place was at Bio-Lab today, he should be thinking about who had attacked Steve, not worrying about his personal life. 

* * *

Wes hurried into the squad room and stopped short at the sight of her. Violet, sitting next to Jimmy's desk, smiling and standing up as she saw him. She looked nervous but resolute. Seeing her here, where Jen had worked, it sent an odd feeling through him, perhaps of déjà vu. If not for her short hair, he could believe he had gone a few months back in time, that it was truly Jen sitting there. 

"Violet, what happened? What are you doing here?" he asked. 

"I had to talk to you. There's only one phone in the farmhouse, and it's in Scott's room. So I walked down the highway, but I couldn't find a phone…" 

"She waved down a patrol car," Jimmy cut in. 

"They thought I was Jen." 

"Yeah, they kinda freaked," Jimmy said. "Can't blame them." He paused, smiling, but with an edge of sadness, his eyes sharp on her face. "I was Jen's partner. Worked with her every day, right here." 

"I'm sorry if I bring back memories." She gave him a half smile and turned back to Wes. "How's Steve Miller?" 

"He's hanging in there. Got a pretty good chance of recovering, the doctor said." 

"Good." Relief washed over her face, followed by an expression of determination that pierced Wes's heart, it was so much like Jen. "I have to tell you some things." 

"Okay." He pulled up a chair and sat, leaning forward, Jimmy behind the desk watching silently, the rest of the room seeming to fade out of his awareness. As Violet began to speak, he gradually realized what had been drifting around his consciousness; she was different, suddenly, the childishness gone, as if she had grown up overnight. It shook him so deeply that he almost missed what she was saying. 

"Scott and Patrick went out night before last. They wouldn't tell me where they were going. They didn't come back until morning, and wouldn't tell me where they'd been. Then when you told me Mr. Miller had been attacked..." She looked into Wes's face. "I don't think they did it themselves. Scott told me he and Patrick didn't hurt anyone. But he didn't deny they were involved somehow." 

"But he didn't say they were?" 

"No. I know it's kind of vague." She looked apologetic. "But... there's something in that house. Something wrong. I can feel it." 

"Something? What?" 

"I don't know. But they're hiding something. I can see it in their faces, sometimes they're worried, afraid." She hesitated, leaning forward, her eyes meeting his. "There's a secret place. Downstairs, a door in the basement. It's always locked, I've never been in there." 

Wes frowned. "Do you have any idea what could be in there? Any idea at all?" 

"They spend a lot of time there. I don't know. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry. You've been a big help." 

"What do you think, Wes?" Jimmy asked. 

"I don't know. Doesn't sound like we have anything to base a search warrant on." 

"Afraid not. We can watch them. Dig into their past more." 

"Daryl Gunn at Bio-Lab's been doing that. So far, nothing. Except that he can't find anyone to talk to who actually knew them. I think that's suspicious." 

Jimmy looked thoughtful. "You know, we still have Patrick's fingerprints, from when we proved he's not Norman. We should run them through the system, see if anything pops up. Maybe Scott would give us his, too, they keep talking about being cooperative..." He trailed off, both he and Violet staring at Wes in alarm. 

He realized his mouth had dropped open and closed it. His eyes were still wide, his heart leaping and settling back with a jolt. "Holy shit," he said softly. "Why didn't I think of it before...?" 

* * *

Painting was such a soothing job. The repetition of the movements, the smell of the paint, the way the wall looked as it was covered with smooth color. So relaxing... Gaby let her mind drift. And of course it promptly drifted to last night, to Patrick. Something about that encounter was bothering her, but she couldn't quite pin it down. 

Something besides the fact that she hadn't told Eric. Should have... Probably should tell him now... Suddenly it struck home to her how strange that conversation had been. That bizarre thing he had said about someone leaving Steve in Eric's office so he would get help quickly... Why say something like that, if he wasn't talking about himself? Maybe she had been too tired, or too scared, to see it at the time, but hadn't he practically said he was involved in the attack on Steve? Not that he'd done it, but that he was there. 

The look on his face, calm and determined, but there was something else there too, something almost desperate... His voice... He had seemed grateful to her for talking to him. As if he needed to tell her something, but couldn't. As if he felt trapped, and didn't know what to do. Or guilty, and had no way to make it good... 

And the way he had grabbed her arm, so urgent, his hand so strong, fingers cold and unyielding... She frowned, staring unseeingly at the blank wall, the sheen of wet paint glimmering across it, like the gleam of metal. The memory came back of Norman, when he had brought her to the lab he had set up in an old factory, Eric had fought him and been knocked out, she had tried to help, but the cyclobots had grabbed her and dragged her away, their cold, hard hands around her arms... The image of Silver and Purple arose before her, the one time she had seen them, outside this house, their faces metal copies of Norman's, their voices... 

"Oh, my God..." she said slowly. Fingers trembling, she wiped paint from her hands before running to find her phone. 

* * *

"It was there all along. The way to prove if Violet is a clone. Or not." Wes stared at her. 

She was staring back, her eyes just as wide as his. "How?" she asked simply. 

"Fingerprints. Identical twins have different prints, because a lot of the characteristics are random, develop randomly before birth. If you're a clone, you were -- were grown from one of Jen's cells. You'd have different prints." 

"That's right," Jimmy said. He turned to look at Violet. "We have Jen's prints on file." 

"Will you do it?" Wes asked. "Will you let us take your fingerprints? It would mean finding out for sure who you really are." 

"I..." She looked frightened, and uncertain. But then her face firmed, her lips thinned, a look of resolution and determination came over her. The look that was Jen. 

"I'll do it," she said. 

* * *

_"Eric, listen..."_ The voice in his phone was urgent. 

But he was too angry. "You're telling me you came to the hospital without protection, dammit? And let that -- that guy Patrick talk to you? Shit! Didn't I tell you..." 

_"God damn it! Just shut up and listen to me for once!"_

Eric stopped in mid-curse, astonished. He couldn't ever remember Gaby shouting before. Impressed, he lowered his voice. "Okay, okay. What?" 

_"Patrick said he had nothing to do with Steve getting hurt, but he said something weird. I told him about you finding Steve on your desk like that, and how terrible it was, and he said maybe whoever did it just wanted him to be found right away. So he'd get help fast."_

"Huh. Strange, but not exactly a confession." 

_"You weren't there. You didn't see his face, or hear his voice. He had something to do with it, I'm sure. But he didn't do it himself."_

"Maybe Scott..." 

_"I don't think so. I think someone else is involved."_

"Dammit, why didn't you tell me right away?" 

_"I guess it just didn't get through to me until now. And that's not all."_

"All right. Go on." 

She hesitated for the first time. _"This is going to sound really strange. When Patrick grabbed my arm-"_

"He _grabbed_ you?" 

_"Yeah, when he-"_

"I'll kill the bastard!" 

_"Eric!"_

At the warning note in her voice he meekly said, "Go on." 

_"When he grabbed me, his hand was cold. And hard. Like metal. Just like those cyclobots that grabbed me, when Norman kidnapped me."_

"Like the cyclobots? I don't... Shit..." 

But he did understand, the realization hit him like a bolt as Gaby kept talking, as suddenly everything fell into place. 

_"Eric -- it's been under our noses all along. Norman's 'brothers'. Looking identical to him. Scott and Patrick. Silver and Purple."_

Of course. It fit. It fit perfectly. Silver and Purple, the two robots Norman had created in his own image, looking exactly like him, talking exactly like him, even programmed to think like him. His twins. All they needed was human-looking skin. And it looked like they had it now. And if it was true, that meant... 

"They lied about who they are... About being destroyed by that transporter. Probably lied about everything. Jen. And Norman..." 

_"Probably."_ The grim tone of her voice told him she had already thought of that possibility, and what it meant. 

It took a moment for his mind to start working again. After a few seconds of thought, he went on. "I want you to get in here, to Bio-Lab. You'll be safe here." 

_"What are you going to do?"_

"I'm not sure... We have no proof. Want to talk to Gunn again, see if he's found out anything more. I'll have to call him at home. Then -- I don't know. Have to talk to Wes, too. Just get in here as fast as you can, okay?" 

_"Okay. If you think that's best."_

"I do. See you soon." 

* * *

"You okay?" Wes asked gently. 

"I think so." Violet didn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the sheet of paper that now held her fingerprints, as she absently wiped ink from her hands. 

"We'll know in a few minutes." 

She looked nervous. As nervous as Wes felt. The butterflies in the pit of his stomach fluttered even harder as the full realization sank in. This would be proof, one way or the other. If she turned out not to be Jen... He found he didn't want to face that possibility. Better not to know... But that wasn't true, not really. Face facts, deal with it. Whatever the facts were. 

"Wes..." Violet's voice was soft. 

"Yes?" 

"I'm not sure what I'm more afraid of. Finding out I'm Jen, or that I'm not." 

"Why?" 

"If I'm not Jen... well..." She glanced at him. "I just kind of wish I was. And then I'd still be -- a clone -- a freak." 

"Don't say that. No matter what, you're not a freak. A clone is just as much a normal human as anyone else." 

She smiled briefly. "And if I _am_ Jen... that means I'm not who I thought I was. Who Scott and Patrick told me I am. It means everything changes. They lied to me... what else have they lied about?" 

"I don't know." He was watching the fingerprint expert. What was taking so long? But then he realized it was over. Jimmy and the expert exchanged a few words, then Jimmy was standing up, looking at them, picking up the fingerprint sheet, starting across the room. 

Violet stood up to meet her fate, Wes at her side. 

* * *

Her guards were waiting for her, outside. Eric must have called them, Gaby realized, while she was washing paint off her hands and changing clothes. One of them, a tall dark-haired man, stood at the door of their SUV and waved, while his partner, a smaller blond man, sat at the wheel. 

"Commander Myers wants you to ride in with us!" he called. 

Silly, really. No reason to think she was in more danger now than for the last two months. Still, something prickled at the back of her neck as she hurried toward the black vehicle. And then she knew why, when she saw him. 

It was Patrick. Maybe. Or Scott. Not Norman, he looked perfectly normal, no silver hair or eyes. She saw him slide out of a car parked on the corner, and walk quickly to intercept her. She quickened her pace, and reached the SUV first. 

"Gaby!" he called. "I want to talk to you." 

"Just stay back, sir," the dark Guardian said. "The lady doesn't want to talk to you." 

"I think the lady can speak for herself." He smiled. "How about it, Gaby? Can you spare me a moment?" 

"Look -- Patrick?" He nodded. "I really have to go..." 

"Oh, but we have so much to talk about. Can't you wait, just for a minute?" 

"No, I have to go." She put her hand on the car door. 

"It's very important." He was smiling, but not like last night. Another warning shiver ran up her spine at the expression on his face. 

"Sorry." She turned to get in. 

And it happened, so fast, a blur of motion and the dark Guardian was collapsing before she could look back in his direction. She had a quick glimpse of him thudding to the ground, blood spraying from his head, of Patrick raising a weapon, a blaster; there was a dazzling burst, so close she felt a tingling shock run through her. A cry made her turn, to see the blond Guardian in the car slump, apparently unconscious. And then it was just the two of them. 

"Don't be afraid, Gaby," he said, softly, stepping forward and grabbing her arm. "I'm going to make sure you're happy. With me." 

"_Nooo!_" She screamed as he dragged her rapidly to his car, screamed again as he twisted her arms behind her back and snapped metal cuffs on her wrists. And again as he shoved her inside. 

But there was no help in sight. He got in next to her and drove off. She shrank back, as far away as possible. Her arms still felt the harsh imprint of his hands, his hands which had been warm, undeniably human. 

He only grinned at her as she gasped, "_Norman!_" 

* * *

TBC... 


	10. Battleground

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

Battleground

* * *

Wes stared into her face, her brown eyes filled with a mixture of shock, happiness and anxiety. _It's true, it's true._ That was all he could think, it ran through his mind over and over. He raised a hand to touch her cheek, feeling himself smile foolishly, feeling tears sting at the same time. Then he pulled her into his arms and just held her tight, murmuring, "Jen... Jen..." 

After a moment she relaxed against him, and even returned the embrace. When he regained some self-control, he let go, stepped back and grinned at her, then looked around self-consciously. Jimmy was grinning almost as wide as he was, and he quickly moved in and hugged her too, briefly and gently. 

"I knew it," Wes said. "I knew it. I knew you couldn't be gone. And now..." 

"Yeah," Jimmy said. "Now what?" 

* * *

_"Sorry, Eric, I haven't gotten anything else."_ Daryl Gunn's voice was as cool and steady as always, with only a trace of frustration. _"Still can't track down anything definite. No proof they are who they say they are. No proof they're not, either."_

"Do you think they could have faked the records? Set up false identities?" 

_"People use fake ID's all the time. But the records -- most of that stuff's in computers nowadays. I guess someone good enough could have hacked the databases... You should ask Gaby, she knows more about it than I do."_

"I will, as soon as she gets here. Thanks, Daryl. Sorry to bother you at home." 

_"No problem. Call if you need anything else."_

After hanging up, Eric stared impatiently at the door of the office he was using temporarily until his own desk and carpeting could be replaced. His men would contact him as soon as they brought Gaby in. It seemed to be taking a long time, but that was probably just his anxiety. 

Meanwhile, try to think. What was the logical next move? How do you prove that a man is really a robot? Or that he isn't? Without sticking a knife in him... An attractive idea, but not very practical... And Wes -- how would Wes react? He'd probably want to go crashing in there and pull Violet out. Better to have a real plan to offer before telling him. 

* * *

Wes turned down the road leading to the Ryder farmhouse, glancing at Violet as he did. In a few seconds, they were parked several yards from the house. They sat quietly for a moment. 

"I'm still not Jen, you know. Not really," she said, not looking at him. "I don't have her -- my -- memories." 

"Maybe they'll come back to you. You said you remember a few things." 

"Just impressions. And -- a dream." She looked up and met his eyes. "I may never remember." 

"Well..." He swallowed. "Let's not worry about that now." 

"Okay." She offered him a faint smile, and opened the door. 

"Hold on. I'm not letting you go in there alone." 

"Why not?" 

"They lied to you. You can't trust them. What if they lied about Norman, too? For all we know he's still around somewhere." 

"Scott and Patrick are my family, Wes." She looked into his face again, with that strong, resolute expression that brought a lump to his throat, it was so much his Jen, come back to life. "I want to talk to them, alone. Give them a chance to explain. They would never hurt me." 

"Look, I'll go in and -- and stand in the next room." He smiled slightly. "I just found you again. I'm not letting you out of my sight." 

"All right." She sounded reluctant. But then she smiled, reached out to touch his arm, slid out and waited for him before they started for the house. 

* * *

Eric was staring at the phone when it rang. He grabbed it up before the sound of the first ring had died away, his nerves already telling him something was wrong. His men should have checked in by now, Gaby should have been walking in his office door. Jimmy Duran's tense voice only confirmed his own instincts. 

_"Eric, I've got bad news. I'm in front of your house. Two of your men are down. The neighbor who called 911 says he saw a man attack them and drag Gaby into a car."_

"Any sign of them?" Eric asked after a moment, willing his heart to settle down. 

_"No. We've got an all-points out, but so far nothing."_

"How are my men?" 

_"Alive. Ambulance just got here. One of them's conscious, just barely. Said it was one of the Ryder twins. Gaby called him Patrick."_

"Shit. Then we know where to look." 

_"We'll back you up."_

Eric hung up without saying goodbye. He stayed long enough to order a squad of Guardians to follow him, raced out of the building, paused under a cloud-specked sky and raised his morpher. Two words rang out into the summer air, "Quantum Power!" triggering his transformation, sparkling light rolling around him, power and energy filling him, leaving him in the red and black Quantum Ranger suit, ready for action. 

* * *

Scott and Patrick stood there, looking at her. When she walked in, they had been hurrying up from the basement, their faces showing tension and anxiety. They still seemed a bit distracted, as they faced her in the library, Wes outside in the hallway where he could see her but not hear what they were saying. But she was too intent on what she had to do, too angry, still too shocked, to care what other problem they might have. 

"All a lie," she said forcefully. "It was all a lie. I'm not a clone, I'm Jen Scotts. Everything I thought I knew about myself is wrong." 

They glanced at each other, in that annoying way they had of silent communication. "We're sorry, Violet," Scott said. 

"Did you know all along?" 

Another glance. "When we arrived here, we found you as you are, with no memories," Patrick said. "All we could go by was the instructions Norman gave us." 

She didn't miss the fact that they hadn't really answered her question. "What else don't I know? What are you hiding under the basement?" 

"We've told you. A laboratory." 

"I want to see it." 

"That's not possible." 

"Why not?" 

"There are things there we can't allow anyone else to see. Please, don't ask about that." 

She sighed with frustration. "What's really going on here? Why keep me hidden all this time? Why would Norman have said I'm a clone? Is he really dead, or is that a lie too?" 

"Don't you believe us, Violet?" 

"No, I don't think so. Not any more." The words spilled out even as some inner knowledge -- some deeply buried memory -- surfaced, telling her she was right. "I think you knew the truth about me all along. You were involved in all of this. I want to know why this happened to me! Why my memory is gone!" 

"That was not our doing." 

"You were there, you were involved. You were a part of it." Sudden tears sprang to her eyes. She brushed them away, uncaring. "I had a life... I want to remember my childhood, my job, my fiancé, I want to remember _me_. You stole my life away, and I want it back!" 

"We didn't do this, Violet. If you don't believe anything else we tell you, believe that. We never meant to harm you." There was no denying the sincerity, and the sadness, in Scott's voice and face. 

"But you let it happen. Didn't you?" They had no response. Violet took a deep breath and went on. "Won't you help me now? Give me back my memories." 

"We're sorry. Truly. But we can't." 

"Can't, or won't?" She wiped away tears again. "I'm going to get my things and go with Wes." 

"You can't leave," Patrick said. 

"Why not? I intend to get back as much of my life as I can. And you're not going to stop me." 

"Let her go. It's better that way. We have other concerns," Scott said suddenly. Patrick seemed about to protest, but after another shared glance he only frowned. 

* * *

The TF Eagle rose into the sky, turned in a tight circle, and took off, skimming over the rooftops as Eric headed for the highway. As he spotted it and turned towards the Ryder place, he raised his morpher to his helmeted face again. "Wes!" he called. 

The answer came in a moment, in a slightly startled-sounding voice. _ "Eric?"_

"Wes..." There was so much to explain, and very little time. "One of the Ryders has grabbed Gaby. He must be taking her to their farmhouse. I'm on my way there now." 

_"Patrick and Scott? I'm at their place right now. They're both here."_

"You're there? And they're..." Eric's mouth tightened as his thoughts moved quickly. "Then it must have been Norman. And that's not all. I think Scott and Patrick are really Silver and Purple." 

_"What? But..."_

"Think about it, Wes. But don't take too much time. Where's Violet?" 

_"She's here. Eric..."_ His voice lowered. _"She's Jen, Eric. Alive. We proved it, with her fingerprints."_

Eric paused for another moment to absorb that, and found it was no surprise. "I knew it. That whole story was a lie. Wes, you've got to help me find Gaby. If Norman's on his way there..." 

_"I have to get Violet out of here. I'll -- I'll send her back in my car, and meet you. If you're right, it'll take both of us to fight them."_

"Okay. I'll be there in a couple of minutes." 

* * *

Jen saw Patrick's and Scott's eyes move past her and turned to see Wes coming into the room, a smile on his face. "Violet, could I talk to you for a minute?" he asked, sounding casual, but she could detect a subtle tension under the surface. 

"I'm ready to go, Wes," she said. "Just want to get my things." 

"This'll only take a minute. Let's talk outside." He smiled again at Scott and Patrick, took her arm and pulled her firmly toward the door. 

"Wes, wait..." But something in his face as he glanced at her silenced her protest. She followed him, unresisting. 

But before they could reach it, the front door flew open. They both froze at the sight of two people in the doorway, struggling, a young woman with her hands bound, being roughly dragged inside by -- by Scott, or Patrick -- but he wasn't either of them, they were standing behind her, and this man was somehow different, perhaps because of the expression of raw rage that flashed over his face as he saw them. 

"Wes!" he snarled. 

"Norman," Wes answered, his tone calm, but Violet felt his hand tighten convulsively on her arm. 

"That's right. Thought I was dead, didn't you?" 

"Hoped you were." Wes took a step forward. "Let Gaby go." 

Norman laughed, a sound full of hatred. "You must be joking. I'm keeping her, and Jen, too." 

"Over my dead body!" 

"No problem." He raised his eyes to look past them. "Silver, Purple, you know what to do." 

"What?" Violet twisted to look behind her, seeing Scott and Patrick start forward, their faces set grimly. Wes let go of her and turned to confront them as they closed in. "Scott, Patrick, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice quivering. 

"I'm sorry, Violet, we must stop you," Scott said. 

"_Why? _Why did he call you-" 

"Silver and Purple, Violet. They're robots," Wes said grimly. "They have to obey Norman, he created them." 

"No! You're _people_..." 

"Patrick!" Gaby suddenly called. "You didn't want to hurt Steve, did you? You don't have to do this! You've already gone beyond your programming-" 

"Shut up!" Norman turned on her, snarling, viciously backhanding her across the face. She fell to the floor, crying out in pain. 

Wes started for him with a growl. Then he spun back as Scott and Patrick charged at him. With a quick movement he raised his arm, touched his morpher, and with a sparkling flash of light stood before them in a form-fitting red and white helmeted suit. Violet gasped, reflexively raising her own arm as a shiver of memory ran through her, but the morpher she sensed should be on her wrist was missing. 

"Violet, get out of here!" he called. 

She glanced towards the door, but Norman blocked the way. And she was unwilling to leave Wes anyway. A few steps took her to the young woman now sitting on the floor. They stared at each other as Violet knelt beside her, the shadow of another memory seeming to stir. 

"Jen!" Gaby said softly, smiling just for a moment. 

Then she could only watch as Scott and Patrick closed in on Wes. They moved between him and the others, cornering him against a wall. With a sudden move, he had a blaster in his hand, and fired it fast enough to hit Scott as they sprang at him. But Patrick grabbed him before he could fire again, grasping his wrist and forcing it up. Another shot struck the ceiling. 

Scott had staggered back, clutching his chest where he had been hit, but it only took him a moment to recover enough to move forward again. Wes pivoted, twisting around Patrick to kick Scott in the belly, doubling him over, landing another kick to knock him down. He wrenched his arm out of Patrick's grip and brought it down again, hitting the robot over the head with the blaster. A punch to the face send Patrick to the floor. 

But Scott was back up. He faced off with Wes, feinting for a few moments before Wes aimed his weapon again. A jump-kick, almost too fast to see, knocked the blaster aside before Wes could fire. Patrick was on the attack again, and they both leaped forward, Scott twisting the blaster out of Wes's hand, and using it, hitting Wes. He slammed against the wall and fell to one knee. Scott fired again, and then again. 

"No!" Violet screamed as another flash of light left Wes demorphed and groaning on the floor. She leaped to her feet and started for him, but a hand closed on her arm, yanking her back to come face-to-face with Norman. "You bastard!" she cried, striking out at him with skills she didn't know she had, the edge of her hand hitting him in the throat, her foot kicking him in the knee. 

But he was strong, stronger than a human should be. It hurt him, she could tell, but he only snarled and hit her, slapping her hard enough to make her head ring. In another second he had her arms pinned behind her back and was shoving her in the direction of the basement. 

"Bring them!" he ordered. Wes was lying on the floor, apparently unconscious. Scott bent and lifted him up and over a shoulder. Patrick went to more gently pull Gaby to her feet and push her along to follow them. Moments later the six of them were at the secret door, now open, about to descend into the rooms Violet had never seen before. 

* * *

"Wes?" Eric called into his morpher as the Eagle swept to a landing in front of the Ryder farmhouse. "Wes, where are you?" There was no answer. He emerged from the flyer, jumped to the ground, and looked around. Scott and Patrick's cars were parked beside the driveway, and so was Wes's car. There was no sign of anyone. The house loomed before him, silent and somehow ominous. 

He started for it. As he stepped up to the door and found it open, he slid through in a fast motion, crouching and scanning for danger. There was none, only an empty, silent house. The hairs seemed to rise on the back of his neck as he looked around, seeing a chair overturned, a couch out of place, mute evidence of a violent struggle. And now Wes and Jen were gone, and so was Gaby. 

He moved quietly through the room, into the hallway and kitchen. He paused at the foot of the stairs leading up to the second floor, but instinct told him he wouldn't find what he was looking for there. 

"Morpher, locate the red Ranger," he said softly, after raising his arm to his face. 

_"The red morpher is located approximately thirty feet beneath your current position,"_ the morpher answered in his head. 

"Beneath..." he looked down. A few minutes' search revealed stairs leading down to a surprisingly empty basement, an unused-looking room, except for the fact that it was clean and dust-free. The floor was concrete with a few threadbare area rugs thrown over it, the walls were paneling, oddly expensive and attractive for an otherwise bare and functional space. Thirty feet down from the main floor would be another fifteen feet below him. He began to circle the room, testing the walls for a hidden door. 

It took ten minutes to find, another couple of minutes to break the lock open without making noise. Eric stepped inside, onto a dark stairway leading down. The memory came forcefully back, of himself entering another place, looking for Wes and Jen. The old silver mine, the dark tunnels where they had lost Jen. This time, he promised himself, things would turn out differently. 

* * *

TBC... 


	11. Worse Than Death

Wes, Eric, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  
Violet is... ? 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

Worse Than Death

* * *

Wes drifted back to consciousness painfully, his head spinning and settling back to earth with a thump. Then he realized the thump had been real, that someone had dropped him onto a hard floor. He blinked, his eyes refusing to open more than a crack, the world just a confusing blur, until he began to make out voices. 

"Scott, let me _go_!" 

Violet's voice. His eyes opened a little wider. Then he heard a moan of what sounded like pain, or fear, in Gaby's voice. He looked up. The two of them were sitting next to him on either side, hands bound behind their backs. He was lying on the floor on his side, wrists behind him and wearing handcuffs, he realized, ankles tied with rope. His morpher was gone. Jen -- Violet -- was staring at him anxiously. 

"Wes, are you all right?" she asked. 

"I... I guess so..." The mumble actually turned out coherent. He tried to raise his head, felt it spin again. 

"Wha... Where are we?" 

"In the secret room. Under the basement." She looked up as a shadow fell over them. "Scott, why are you doing this?" she asked, sounding both frightened and angry. 

"I'm sorry, Violet. If it was up to me, I'd let you go." 

His twin joined him, staring down at Gaby. "I apologize also, Gaby. What we're doing may not seem right-" 

"May not _seem_ right!" She sounded even more angry than Violet. "You let him kidnap me again, you've been keeping Jen here away from her friends, you hurt Wes, you hurt Steve..." 

"It was not our choice." 

"And now -- _now_ what are you going to do to us?" A sharp edge of fear cracked her voice. 

"Don't blame them. They're just doing what I created them to do." A third man was standing there, identical to Scott and Patrick, brown hair and eyes, normal skin, but Wes knew... 

"Norman!" he growled, struggling to wriggle into a sitting position. 

"Right, took you long enough to figure out what was going on here." 

"At the risk of sounding stupid, I don't understand. How come you look normal again?" 

Norman smiled. "Easy. I'm a biochemist, among other things, remember, specializing in drug reactions. Silver and Purple 'inherited' my talents and knowledge. It didn't take us long to find a treatment that would reverse my changes in appearance while leaving the rest of my mutation alone. The process was complete only a few days ago." 

"Why did you attack Steve Miller?" 

"He just got in the way," Norman said casually. "I wanted to see if Rick Quinn had left anything interesting around, after he built that time machine. Miller tried to stop me. His bad luck." 

"His _good_ luck Scott and Patrick aren't quite the cold-blooded killers you'd like them to be," Gaby said. Norman shrugged and smiled again. 

"I know I'm really Jen Scotts," Violet said bitterly. "I'm not a clone. What did you do to me?" 

He glanced at her. "You remember the drug I used on you, the one that put you into a fantasy world?" 

"No. I don't remember anything before two months ago!" 

With an indifferent shrug and a sly smirk at Wes, Norman went on. "Wes remembers, I'm sure. It seriously disrupted your mind, left you hallucinating and confused. After we escaped the explosion in the silver mine, you started to recover. I used a different drug then, one that suppressed all your memories. Made you much more pleasant." 

"I want my mind back the way it was, damn it!" 

"Your personality seems to have returned to what it used to be." He took a step closer, looking at her coldly. "You were much better before, so nice and child-like, so sweet and innocent. I could have done whatever I wanted with you then. Should never have let Silver and Purple talk me out of it." 

"You bastard..." she snarled. 

"So you wiped out her memory and tried to pass her off as a clone," Wes cut in. "And Silver and Purple found a way to disguise themselves as human." 

"Yes. A covering that appears to be human skin, false hair. It was easy. Mentally they're already almost human. And it was easy to hack into various computer systems and plant false records for them." 

"But _why_?" 

"I needed to disappear for a while. Continue my research, make myself look -- as you said, 'normal', again. Meanwhile, Silver and Purple got legal control over my family fortune long enough to transfer it into Swiss bank accounts." 

"Why lie about Violet? Why tell us she was a clone?" 

"It wasn't practical to keep her locked up, but if she was discovered, you would have taken her away. It was a precaution, to keep the situation confused, and keep her here." 

"What are you going to do with me now?" Violet asked. 

"I have plans for you. And some unfinished business..." Norman turned his head to look at Gaby, another chilling smile on his face. 

"What do you want with me now?" she asked. "Or do I need to ask?" 

"The same thing I've always wanted," he said softly, his eyes running over her. 

"I hate you!" she said. "I'll never be with you willingly!" 

"Yes, you will." Norman stepped over to her and knelt beside her, reaching to lift a strand of her hair. "You'll love me madly, passionately. And I'll make you very happy. You'll thank me someday." 

"No!" Her eyes narrowed. Then she tried to wriggle away from him, her expression becoming fearful. "That's impossible. You wouldn't..." 

"Clever girl. That's right. My drugs will change your mind, literally. You'll forget all about that muscle-headed boyfriend of yours, and realize I'm the only man for you." 

"No!" 

"You'll worship the very ground I walk on." 

"Shit." A new voice interrupted them. All of them jumped, staring, Norman hissing in surprise and anger as he whipped around. "You always had a way with a cliché," Eric said, stepping into view, his voice level but vibrating with fury, the Defender in his hand and pointed at Norman. "Just get away from them. Put your hands up." 

"Ah, the muscle-headed boyfriend himself, to the rescue." Norman still sounded confident. And in an instant Wes knew why, as Norman's hand moved with the mutant speed he remembered, producing a small but deadly-looking revolver from a pocket and pointing it -- not at Eric. 

"Just an ordinary gun," Norman said, grinning. "Wouldn't hurt you, in your Ranger suit. But what about your friends?" The weapon was pressed against Gaby's neck. "Just think how you'd feel, watching the woman you've had so much pleasure with, bleeding to death, gasping her life out... I can withstand your blaster long enough to kill her, and perhaps one of the others." 

"And you have the balls to talk about love," Eric snarled, the blaster lowering a fraction. "Would you really hurt her?" 

"Perhaps you're right." Norman moved again, lightning fast. Wes blinked, staring into the round, dark hole of the gun's muzzle as it hung in front of his face, aimed between his eyes. "I certainly don't love Wes. But I think _you_ care about him." 

"I..." Eric's blaster fell another fraction. "I won't let you take Gaby," he said, his voice strengthening. 

Norman smiled again, maliciously. "Then choose. Your friend, or your girl." 

"Don't do it, Eric," Wes said. "He'll kill us anyway. Save Jen and Gaby." But Eric continued to hesitate, for a moment too long. 

"Enough of this heroic garbage!" Norman snarled, swung the pistol, and struck Wes in the head, knocking him back to the floor. "Boys!" he shouted. Scott and Patrick were leaping forward before the word was complete, slamming into Eric. 

He had time for one quick shot, hitting Scott but only stopping him for a moment, before Patrick had him by the wrist and the throat, banging his helmeted head against the wall. Eric brought up his other arm, driving the elbow up under Patrick's chin, and breaking away. Scott was on him, kicking at his arm with deadly accuracy, knocking the Defender out of his grip and sending it skidding across the floor. 

Norman dived for it and snatched it up. "Look out!" Gaby screamed as he aimed, laughing, and shot Eric, bringing him to his knees. Another shot, and another, and a blaze of warping light left his demorphed body lying on the floor. 

"Damn it!" Norman shouted. The Defender had disappeared when Eric demorphed, just before he could fire again. "Well, maybe it's better this way," he continued after a moment, beginning to smile again. "After I'm done, Gaby'll do anything for me. It'll be amusing to see his own girlfriend kill him." 

* * *

"Eric. Eric, are you all right?" 

The voice dragged him up from darkness, pulling him back to bright light, sounds, pain throbbing through his body.... He tried to sink back into unconsciousness, but another voice called, a woman's voice. Reluctantly he returned to a reality he was quite sure he wouldn't like, squinting as he cracked an eye open. 

"Eric? You okay?" The voice was Wes's. 

"Just swell. Thanks." He opened his eyes fully and looked around. He was lying on the floor next to Jen, Wes next to her, and Gaby beyond him. She was leaning forward to look at him anxiously, her face bruised. An attempt to move his arms told him he was handcuffed, just like the others, his morpher removed. 

"Good, I see you're back. Now we can get going." Norman appeared, standing over him, his voice brisk and cheerful. "First, we'll perform a few little adjustments to Gaby's mind... then she'll be happy to dispose of you when I ask her to." 

"You'll never make me hurt anyone!" Gaby exclaimed. "Especially Eric!" 

"On the contrary." Norman stepped back to address all of them, smiling victoriously. "The human mind is really a wonderful thing. I've developed all sorts of useful tools for bending it into whatever shape I want. Take Wes." He nodded in Wes's direction. "I turned him against his own partner and best friend. A drug to bring out all his weaknesses, all his fears and insecurities; a few suggestions from me, and he hated Eric. Easy." 

His voice sharpened with venom as he spoke directly to Eric. "I wanted _you_ to have the same experience. Would have been interesting to find out what your worst nightmare is. Too bad you'll never get the little present I left you, now." Turning back to Gaby, he went on, "Just as easy to wipe out your mind, remake it the way I want, to make you love me enough to kill your former boyfriend to please me." 

"No!" 

"And then we'll be together. For always. The way it should be. You'll be all mine." Norman squatted before her. "You don't mind if I have a little sample, do you?" He reached out, squeezing a breast, caressing it slowly as he turned his head to stare at Eric, grinning. She didn't react, only narrowing her eyes as an expression of pure hatred darkened her face. Beside her, Wes struggled against his bonds, growling with impotent fury. 

"You sick fuck. Take your hands off her." Eric's voice was quiet, but held all the murderous rage he felt. At that moment he would have cheerfully killed Norman. Perhaps the mutant felt it, he withdrew his hand and stood up. 

"Enough fun and games, might as well get on with it," he said. "Silver and Purple will assist..." 

The two robots, still completely human in appearance, stepped closer. Eric had been marginally aware of them watching. Now he noticed their faces, rigidly blank and controlled. One of them was looking at Gaby, not at his master. Patrick, instinct told him. The other glanced at Violet, then quickly away, seeming almost furtive. Scott... 

"What about Violet? Jen?" Wes asked. 

Norman shrugged, with a smile. "I'll take her too, of course. Two months ago I didn't have the drugs perfected, all I could do was remove her memories, and the effect wasn't even complete. This time I'll do the same thing to her as I'm doing with Gaby. Start over, reprogram her into what I want her to be, and make her love me too." He snickered softly. "Don't worry, girls, you won't be jealous. You'll realize a man like me can't be limited to only one woman. And there'll be others, later..." 

"No, Norman, you can't do this!" Wes exclaimed, desperation in his voice. "It's -- it's not human!" 

"Might I remind you _I'm_ no longer human?" 

"That treatment's made you insane," Gaby cried. "You weren't like this before. Even a few months ago. Your own drugs have destroyed your mind." 

"Not destroyed it. Made it better. Ordinary morality, ordinary standards, no longer apply to me. I've developed beyond them. Risen above them." 

"Scott, Patrick, you can't let him do this," Violet said, her eyes on the two robots, her voice as desperate as Wes's. "You're my friends... Help us..." 

"I know Silver and Purple don't approve. But they really have no choice," Norman said matter-of-factly. "Explain it to her, boys." 

"It's true," Scott said tonelessly. "Our programming compels us to serve Norman. We must protect him. Help him get what he wants. Do whatever will make him happy." 

"But you've disobeyed him! You didn't kill Steve Miller!" 

"We have avoided killing anyone, or letting Norman kill, because we don't want any possibility of his being charged with murder, if he is ever apprehended. It's all completely logical." 

"What about us?" Wes asked. "He intends to murder me and Eric, now." 

"That -- that may be unavoidable. Once he has your women, you would never stop until you have your revenge. Leaving you alive would be dangerous to Norman." The hesitation had been slight, but definite, Eric noted grimly. Logical or not, robots or not, Scott and Patrick didn't want to kill. 

Violet tried again. "You're people," she said. "You don't have to do this..." 

"I'm sorry," Scott said. "No matter what our personal feelings are, we can't overcome our basic natures. This is the purpose we were created for. This is the meaning of our existence." 

"Well, enough of this," Norman said, his tone brisk again. "Purple, bring me the injector." 

With another quick look at Gaby, Patrick turned away, walked to a bench at the back of the room, and returned holding an object. He handed it to Norman, who held it up for them to see. It was a small white tube, with a curved handle and trigger on one end. 

"This is my version of a needle," Norman explained. "Just press the tip against the skin, pull the trigger, and the drug is injected quickly and almost painlessly. Fast and efficient." He looked down at Gaby. 

"It will work in seconds. Your memories will fade -- permanently, unlike the treatment I used with Jen -- leaving your brain a blank slate. Your past will be gone -- parents, childhood, friends... Eric. At that moment, your life as Gabriella Butler will be over forever. Then, we will use a machine which will recondition your mind, giving you the memories and emotions I want you to have, making your personality more... cooperative. And your new life, with me, will start. Don't worry, you'll be happy. You won't have a choice." 

He handed the device back to Patrick. "Purple, if you would... I hate needles, even this kind." 

"No!" Gaby cried as Patrick knelt in front of her. Wes was struggling again, Violet too. Eric strained against the handcuffs and the ropes binding his ankles. 

"Bastard!" he shouted. "You bastard!" 

"Patrick, don't do this!" Gaby pleaded. "I know you don't want to... Please... It's like killing me, it's worse, I'll be gone but my body will still be around for _him_ to use..." 

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his hand trembling just slightly as he held the device up. Behind him, Norman grinned and Scott stood blank-faced, his fists clenching. 

"Eric..." Gaby said, turning to face him. "Eric, I love you. Whatever he makes me do, whatever he makes me say, I love you. I always will, inside, the real me. Remember that!" 

"Gaby..." he gasped. "Please, Patrick, please don't..." The robot was hesitating, but then his hands were moving again, gripping her arm and bringing the needle closer. "Wait!" Eric shouted. "Patrick, Scott, think about this... You think Gaby and Jen will make Norman happy? Or killing us? Nothing's going to make him happy... He's a crazy son of a bitch who'll never get what he really wants, because nothing will ever be enough!" 

"Eric's right," Wes cried. "Norman's problem isn't us, or finding a woman to love him, it's himself! If you let him do this he'll just go on like this, hurting more people, never happy with what he has..." 

Patrick stopped, his hand holding the injector no more than an inch from Gaby's arm. "Happiness comes from inside..." Violet said. "The only way to really help Norman is to change _him_... Make him different -- so he doesn't want what he can't have..." 

Eric held his breath. Patrick looked up, meeting Scott's eyes in one of their silent exchanges. 

"Shut up!" Norman snapped impatiently. "You're pathetic. Silver and Purple are _mine_. They'd never... never..." 

But Patrick had risen to his feet and stepped behind him, the needle pressed firmly against Norman's neck. He pulled it away and dropped it. The mutant's eyes widened, his hand came up to touch the injection site, a look of disbelief on his face. Scott stepped forward, and he and Patrick reached to catch their 'brother' as his eyes rolled up and he began to fall, easing him gently to the floor. 

* * *

TBC... 


	12. Start Over

Wes, Eric, Jen, Miller (sort of), and Mr. Collins belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Patrick, Scott, Jimmy Duran, and any others you don't recognize are mine.  


Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; violence; sexual content. 

Another story finished. Hope everyone enjoyed, and my thanks to all who read and especially all who reviewed. Thanks as always to my beta's, Cecilia and Jenny. I'm sorry to see this end, in a way, I became very fond of Scott/Silver and Patrick/Purple, and hope you liked them too. 

Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one. 

Violet

* * *

* * *

Start Over

* * *

"You were right, you know," Patrick said to Gaby. "Norman's mutating treatment, and the drugs he used to make his appearance normal again, affected his mind. He became quite insane. We knew it, but could do nothing about it, since he didn't want to recover." 

He and Scott were moving around the room, collecting a pile of machinery and vials of liquids, packing them in a small trunk. Wes, Violet, Eric, and Gaby watched them, still handcuffed and tied up. Scott paused long enough to take up the explanation. 

"And _you_ were right," he said to Eric. "Norman would never be happy, not the way he was. Once we realized that, we decided on the one course of action open to us. The one logical way to fulfill our purpose, to serve Norman." 

"I think I know," Wes said. "You're going to reprogram him." 

"Right. The drug he was going to use on Gaby has already permanently wiped out his memories. Now he has the mentality of a newborn baby. We'll also use another treatment, to reverse the mutating effect. Make him completely, normally human again." Scott glanced down at Norman, still lying on the floor where they had left him, apparently unconscious. "We're taking the reprogramming unit. With it, we will give him a new mind, a new personality. One that will be happy, that will find everything he wants in a quiet, simple life. The three of us will start over." 

"Where are you going to take him?" Eric asked. 

"We'll use the transporter. It worked perfectly before, by the way, allowing us to escape from the explosion in the silver mine. I'm quite pleased that you escaped also." 

"We already have another location, another hideout, if you will. Not in this country," Patrick picked up. "For obvious reasons, we won't tell you where. A good part of Norman's fortune is deposited in several Swiss bank accounts, and of course we can pose as him to get it. We'll become three wealthy brothers, remarkable only for looking alike. Norman will be like a child again, ready for us to mold him into a happy and productive person. Scott and I will guard and protect him for the rest of his life. He won't be causing any more trouble." 

"What about us?" Gaby asked. 

"The police and Guardians have arrived. In moments they'll decide not to wait for a warrant, and begin to search upstairs. Eric left the door panel to the stairway leading down here open. It won't take them long to find you. By then we'll be gone, and the transporter will self-destruct. Don't worry, the explosion will be small, you won't be in any danger." 

"I believe we're ready," Scott said, stepping to his side, holding another of the injector devices in his hand. He looked down, and then knelt in front of Violet, and pressed the needle against her arm. "Don't be afraid," he said as she flinched and gasped. "This won't harm you. We're just giving back what we took from you. Your past." The device hissed faintly against her skin. 

"These belong to you," Patrick said. He bent to set Wes and Eric's morphers on the floor in front of them. 

"And one last thing to return," Scott continued. He held up an object in his other hand. A ring, the diamond glinting brightly in the light. He tucked it into Violet's pocket, and reached out to gently touch her cheek. "Goodbye, Violet. We'll miss you. I came to care for you very much." 

"Goodbye," Patrick murmured beside him, a hand reaching down to brush his fingers over her hair. "Try to remember us with kindness." 

She looked up at them as Scott straightened. "I -- I will..." She blinked, a tear running down her face, then another. "Good luck. I hope you'll have a good life." 

"If robots can be said to have a life, we will." 

They backed away, but Patrick turned to look at Gaby. "We have Norman's memories and emotions, as you know," he said. "I have many of the feelings he had for you. The good ones, before the drugs distorted them. The admiration, the beginnings of genuine affection." He paused, smiling gently as Eric scowled. "Goodbye. I hope Eric will be good to you." 

Patrick lifted the trunk full of machinery and equipment as if it was weightless. Scott stooped and scooped Norman into his arms. They stood for another moment, taking a last look, until Scott said, "Don't forget us," smiled, and turned away. In a moment they were gone, into the next room. Another few seconds, a hum, then a loud crack, and a puff of smoke wafted through the doorway. They were still coughing when the Guardians and police burst in. 

* * *

"Wes... Wes... Wes!" 

"Violet, I'm right here. Wake up." 

His voice penetrated her dream, bringing her through the last layers of half-sleep. With a start, she opened her eyes. "Oh... a dream..." she gasped. 

"Are you all right?" Wes was standing over the bed, his face shadowed by light from the hallway. 

"I'm fine..." She pushed up into a sitting position, squinting in the brightness, until he closed the door, leaving them in the soft glow of dawn from the window. 

"What are you doing in here?" 

"Here?" She looked around. Their room. Why shouldn't she be here? But even as the question ran through her mind, she knew. 

After Scott and Patrick's departure with Norman three days ago, she had moved into Wes's house. She remembered the hopeful look on his face that first night, as he led her into this room, the bedroom he said they had shared, his disappointment when she had to tell him she didn't recognize it. 

_"But Scott must have given you something to restore your memory," _Wes had said._ "What else could he have meant, when he said he was giving back your past?"_

_"I think you're right. But it might not work right away. Or not completely."_Or it might not work at all, she had thought, but only to herself. 

She had moved into another guest room, not feeling right about sleeping with Wes, not yet. He hadn't objected, probably feeling equally uncomfortable. And by mutual consent, they had not returned to this room. 

But last night, something had happened. She had begun to have strange sensations, wisps of thoughts and emotions drifting through her mind, vague images, voices she couldn't quite make out. It was frightening, but she hadn't told anyone, only gone to her guest bedroom early, claiming to have a headache. She remembered going to bed, and then as if in a dream, getting up, looking around... thinking vaguely, _This isn't my room..._

It had seemed natural to return here, to their room, to get in bed, to close her eyes again in this familiar place. Because it _was_ familiar, now... She smiled up at Wes. "I dreamed I was in the silver mine again. Running through the tunnels. You were chasing me, calling me, trying to save me..." 

His face lit. "You mean... you can remember the mine?" 

"Yes. I remember. Not just the mine and Norman, all of it. Us." He grinned, sat on the bed and leaned over to take her in his arms, squeezing her almost painfully as she clutched at him, a sudden wave of relief and happiness overcoming her. When he moved away, his eyes were suspiciously bright, as she imagined hers were too. 

"Do you remember meeting me?" he asked eagerly. "Lucas, Trip, Katie? Time Force? The clock tower? When we first kissed, in the garden?" 

"Yes, everything." She laughed as he kissed her eagerly, and hugged her tight again. 

"God, Jen, I was so scared," he mumbled, almost unintelligibly. Then his voice strengthened. "I love you." 

"I love you too. So much." 

He abruptly let go and stood up. "I have something for you," he said, taking a few steps to a cabinet against the wall. A moment later he was back, grinning, holding something out for her. 

"My morpher!" she gasped. "Where...?" 

"Eric found it two months ago, in the mine. Now that you're -- yourself again, you should have it back." 

"Thanks." She placed it on her wrist, the sight of it stinging her eyes with more tears. She wiped them away, and looked up as he sat beside her again and took her hands. "Wes..." she said. "Let's get married." 

A trace of concern crossed his face as he peered at her. "We're already engaged... Don't you..." 

"Yes, I remember. You proposed in the garden. Very sweet, too." She raised her left hand to glance at her ring, back in its place on her finger. "I mean, let's go ahead. Set a date. I have one in mind." 

"That sounds great," he said when she told him. "Not too far off. Not too soon." 

"And very romantic." She smiled and raised a hand to his chest, trailing it down from his throat slowly. "I remember other things too..." One finger traced down to his waist and teasingly lower. Another emotion began to join the joy in his face as his eyes took on a familiar look. "But I might need some help with the details..." Both of her hands rose this time, and began to unbutton his pajama tops. 

"Anything to oblige," he said huskily, his fingers slowly running up her arms before fumbling with her own buttons, then impatiently tugging her top up over her head. He just looked for a moment, then leaned in to kiss her lingeringly, his tongue gliding against hers. 

"Let's make some new memories..." she murmured as they sank onto the bed. 

* * *

"Er-ric..." 

"Mmm... what?" 

"Time to get up." 

He rolled over and peered at Gaby, rumpled brown hair, sleep-puffy eyes, now blinking at him. "Already?" 

"Yep. Come on." 

"Just a few more minutes..." 

The last couple of days had felt like a vacation, after their ordeal. The police had freed them, but then there had been a seemingly endless round of questions, both at the farmhouse and at the police station, the rest of that day and part of the next. He knew their story was fairly unbelievable. Fortunately, they had been able to stick fairly close to the truth, only leaving out Scott and Patrick's use of the transporter, claiming they didn't know how the two robots and the mutant had escaped. 

Then, Mr. Collins had persuaded both him and Wes to take a few days off. Sleeping late, no uniform, no schedule... A guy could get used to this. And Gaby had taken some time off, too, to be with him, putting the finishing touches on the house, just hanging out, talking... and other activities... It had been nice, very nice, especially after coming so close to losing her. The memory ran through his mind again of what she had said, about loving him. He still didn't know how to respond. Only that it made him happy. 

But life went on, as it had a tendency to do... "We have to meet the contractor at the house for a last inspection, remember?" Gaby said. "If everything's okay, you can start moving back." She sat up and started to slide towards the foot of the bed. 

"No..." He grinned and pulled her back. "I wanna make love to you..." 

"_Now?_" She grimaced. "I have to brush my teeth first." 

"No, right now..." He pulled her closer for a kiss. 

"Geez, you'll do _anything_ to avoid getting out of bed, won't you? At least brush _your_ teeth!" 

"All right, all right." With a chuckle, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. "Race you to the bathroom." 

"Hey! No fair!" Laughing, she chased him across the room. 

Ten minutes later, teeth brushed, face washed, and sitting on the bed, Eric glanced up as Gaby popped her head out of the bathroom. "Mind if I go first in the shower?" she asked. 

"Gaby..." He knew what he wanted to say, but... how to start? What words to use, how to put it...? "You know, my house has two bathrooms," he heard himself say. 

"Yeah, so?" 

"If we lived there, we could each have one." 

She was quiet for a moment, watching him as she stepped back into the bedroom. "What do you mean?" she asked. 

He shrugged, looking down at the floor now, wondering if she could hear his heart pound. "Well, we've been spending a lot of time together. I think it's gone pretty well." 

"Pretty well." 

"And you've done so much work on my house. Fixed it up really nice. Doesn't seem fair for you not to get to enjoy it full time." 

"I guess." 

"We've kind of gotten used to each other, haven't we? I figure we'd be together most nights anyway." He turned his eyes towards her again. 

"Are you trying to ask me to move in?" There was more of surprise in her voice than anything else. 

"Well, yeah. We could save a lot of time that way. And money. Seems like the practical thing to do." 

She hesitated, looking at him searchingly, her face unrevealing. "Are you sure that's what you want? Really sure?" 

"Sure I'm sure. I don't say what I don't mean. And I -- I've thought about it a lot. Won't change my mind on you." Her expression was still unreadable as he rushed on. "The truth is, I miss you when you're not around. I want you with me, all the time." He stopped, dropping his gaze to the floor again, feeling himself flush. 

She was in front of him now, her fingers under his chin tilting his face up, staring into his eyes as he looked up into her face, seeing it become tender as she bent down, just brushing his lips with hers. "You're really a hopeless romantic, aren't you?" she murmured. 

He chuckled, raising a hand to run his fingers over her arm. "Or maybe just hopeless... So -- what's the answer?" 

That soft smile was still on her face when she moved in to kiss him. "I think that might be acceptable," she said softly, a hand stroking his cheek. "In fact I love the idea." Another lingering kiss, then she was climbing onto the bed, on top of him as he lay back. 

"Um... what about the contractor?" he asked. 

"We can take a time-saving shower together. Later." 

* * *

"I propose a toast." Alan Collins raised his glass as they sat around the long coffee table in the large, luxurious living room of the Collins house. Wes smiled, watching his father in one of his favorite roles, playing host at this small party he was giving to celebrate Jen's return. "To Steve, first. Glad to see you looking so well." 

"Thanks, sir." Steve raised a hand self-consciously to his head, still sporting a bandage. "Good to get out of the hospital and back home." 

"Now, Steve," Alan said with pretended annoyance. "Haven't I told you to call me Alan outside of the office?" 

"Right, sir. I mean Alan. Sorry." They all smiled. 

"Next, to Jen. Wonderful to have you back." 

"Thank you, Alan. It's wonderful to be back with all of you." She took Wes's hand and raised her brows at him. 

"Dad, we have an announcement," he said, waiting for them all to lower their glasses and look at him. "Jen and I have set a date. Finally." He grinned happily. "Valentine's Day." 

"That's great, son! About time you two settled on a day..." Alan's voice rose above the murmurs of congratulation. "Any plans on where to have it?" 

"We were thinking here, in the house, maybe out in the flower garden. There's certainly enough room." 

"Good idea." They exchanged a smile. Wes knew his father would have been disappointed if their wedding wasn't held in the house where he had grown up. 

"We have news, too," Gaby said, smiling at Eric. 

He glanced around, looking slightly embarrassed, and took Gaby's hand. "It's not as big as yours..." 

"Just tell them," she said, nudging him. 

"Gaby and I are moving into my house together." 

"That's great, Eric!" Wes said, as they all raised their glasses again. I'm sure you'll be happy." 

"Yeah. You and Jen, too." 

"Happy..." Jen said thoughtfully. "I wonder how Norman's doing. What he's like now." 

"Whatever he's like, it's bound to be a big improvement," Wes muttered. 

"Strange, but I kind of feel sorry for him. In a way, Scott and Patrick killed him. The Norman Ryder we knew doesn't exist anymore; someone else is living in his body." 

"The important thing is he's no danger anymore. And I guess he's been punished." 

"Punished, by being happy? It's too good for him," Eric said harshly. "If it was up to me, I'd string him up by the..." 

"Eric..." Wes glanced at his father, who failed to look even remotely shocked. 

"I have to go with Eric," Gaby said, her voice hard. "Norman's dead, even if his body's walking around. But he deserved everything he got." 

"He was sick," Jen said. "You said it yourself, those drugs drove him insane." 

"I guess." She didn't look convinced. "Well, I'm just glad he's gone." 

"We can all drink to that." Alan and Steve raised their glasses. Eric muttered in agreement. 

"You know, I still can't believe none of us suspected Scott and Patrick were Silver and Purple," Eric said. "It seems so obvious now; we should have known from the beginning." 

"I was too busy thinking about whether Violet was really Jen," Wes said. 

"And I don't think it occurred to any of us that Silver and Purple could have seemed so -- human," Gaby added. "It's still pretty incredible. They seemed like they were alive." 

Jen glanced around at all of them. "I've wondered about that. Some people think of life in biological terms, or religious... The human brain is really a computer, after all. All our thoughts, all our emotions, our memories, consist of nerves, electricity, chemical reactions. Build an electronic computer that's complex enough, wired like a brain, program it the right way, and it'll function just like a human." With a half-smile, she shrugged. "Scott and Patrick acted like living people. They expressed emotions, they seemed to be self-aware, they struggled with the decisions they had to make. I think they _are_ alive." 

"They sure seemed more human than Norman," Wes commented. 

"I've wondered about that too," Jen said. "They were programmed with Norman's memories and emotions. But they were different from him. As if they got the better parts of his mind." 

"Maybe he left out the bad parts, when he transferred his mind into them," Gaby said softly. "Left out the bugs, so to speak, the flaws. Created better versions of himself." 

"Maybe," Eric put in. "Or maybe they were just themselves. Just -- developed their own personalities, despite the programming." 

"I think that should be our last toast," Alan said into the silence that followed. "To Scott and Patrick. Wherever they are. Good luck to them." 

* * *

The party was breaking up, Steve had gone home, Wes's father was off in another room. Jen and Gaby were quietly talking on the sofa, Eric had wandered to a window and was looking out at the garden. One more thing to do, and now was the time, Wes decided. He got up and crossed the room to join his partner. 

"So," he said, suddenly hesitant. 

Eric turned to him and raised a brow. "Nice party," he said. 

"Congratulations on your new roommate." 

"Thanks." They both stared out into the night for a few moments. 

"About our wedding." 

Another quizzical look as Eric's eyebrows climbed again. "Yeah?" 

"Jen's asking Gaby to be her maid of honor." 

Eric glanced at the two women. "I'm sure she'll be glad to do it," he said after a pause, his voice neutral. 

"Yeah. They're probably talking about dresses and stuff right now." 

"Probably." 

"And I'd like you to be my best man." 

"Really?" Wes heard genuine surprise in that question. 

"Yes, really," Wes said. "Who did you think I was going to ask?" 

"I dunno. Steve. Your father." 

"Nope. You." 

"Even after -- everything?" 

"Yeah." He paused. "I just hope -- we're finally okay." 

"I guess we are." Eric smiled just slightly, his eyes warming. Then he grinned, the old spark of rough humor in his voice as he added, "About time you realized who's the best man around here!" 

* * *

* End *


End file.
